Capture
by triphiamn
Summary: Jearmin 1960s AU. When Armin Arlert moves from Seattle to a tiny seaside town in France to pursue his dream of writing, he is given the task of caring for his dying grandfather. He soon meets Jean Kirstein, an aspiring photographer who works delivering milk. Jean promises to teach Armin French, and as the summer progresses, they realise they might be more than just friends.
1. Chapter 1 - Bienvenue!

**May 1962. A small town on the north coast of France.**

Dewy grass and rolling hillsides, fresh summer skies; Armin had never seen the country before, but he found it beautiful. During the drive from the airport, Armin had anticipated working though a sizeable portion of the French dictionary he had picked up while still in America, but he had been so entranced by the landscape that his book remained in his lap the whole time, a bookmark lying idly mid-way through the E section.

This was his first time in France, and had never anticipated that he would go until his mother suggested the idea.

It had been matters of convenience that landed Armin in the situation he was in, rather than one of choice. When his parents had told Armin that they were leaving Seattle for the snowy, desolate landscape of Alaska, they had presented him with three options - stay in Seattle and get a job, go with them, or fly across the world to stay with his grandfather in France. For a long time, Armin had deliberated, and almost chose the first option; though he soon dismissed it, for he wasn't the type for a city job, and despite turning eighteen after the coming summer, he didn't quite feel ready for total independence. The second had barely crossed his mind as viable. He wanted to be a writer - there was no way he was going to shut himself off in the tundra with only his parents for company.

So it was the third option that Armin was left with, and he chose it, despite the anxiety it brought. He had never met his grandfather - the man was a mystery. Everything Armin knew about him came from a dusty photograph pulled from the loft and tales his mother had told him. According to her he had been a traveller, hopping from country to country. The idea of that fascinated Armin, and he was excited to ask the man questions about his adventures in foreign continents.

The second matter of convenience was his grandfather's and was the reason why his mother had suggested the idea of going in the first place. The man was old, sick, and too stubborn to move from his house. Armin would act as his nurse for the summer.

The taxi passed a farm and soon the town came into view. Armin squinted at a sign as it passed. Bienvenue au Saint Aubin Sur Mer. Watching the houses as they sped by, Armin noticed how every single one was different in some way. A post office, a pharmacy, a small church - it was the typical picture-book town, and it was beautiful.

Much to his dismay, Armin hadn't caught a glimpse of the ocean since he had flown over it, but he was sure that soon it would come into view. After all, his mother had told him that her father's house faced the sea, with the beach barely a minute away.

And he was right - just seconds later, the taxi driver turned a corner and it came fully into view, sparkling and blue. It was so unlike the polluted water surrounding Seattle. His face was almost pressed against the glass, and after a swift glare from the taxi driver Armin pulled away and contented himself with staring at the ocean from a little further away. The taxi turned another corner so they were driving parallel to the sea, and Armin looked out at the beach huts and sunbathers, his heart pounding with excitement. There was nothing he loved more than lying out on the beach with a good book, and knowing that he would be able to in just a few hours excited him beyond belief.

The taxi then pulled into the driveway of his new home. Armin studied it. It was large - larger than the photographs had made it out to be. At the end of a twisting path through the garden, the front door stood stoically, wide and a deep oak brown. It was adorned with a brass knocker. Ivy crawled up the brick walls, and flowers lay in their beds under the windows, bright but slightly wilting. Milk bottles sat in the shade of a flower pot on the doorstep.

"Thank you," Armin's said to the taxi driver, passing him the franks he was due, his French nervous and wobbly. The driver passed him his luggage from the front seat, and Armin stepped out into the French sunshine.

A new home. He hoped there would be lots of books, maybe a piano; he dabbled in music. He wondered if his grandfather would like him. It seemed odd to Armin that he would be meeting and beginning a relationship with the man so late in his life - he could have known him forever, but the man was a total stranger.

The door creaked open and there his grandfather stood. He was old, with wrinkles lining his face like rivers on an old map, and a cloud of white hair sat on his head. He was stooped over, relying on a walking stick to keep him from folding in on himself. His clothes were tattered and worn, but his eyes were bright and focused quickly on Armin. He smiled and began walking over to him, his stick making a loud tapping sound on the path.

"You must be Armin," he said, his hand shaking violently. "The last time we met, you could barely talk." For a man so frail, his eyes were staring at Armin with an unusual intensity. He didn't have a French accent, but Armin knew that he could speak the language fluently.

Armin looked back quickly at the taxi, which was pulling away. Part of him wished he could jump straight back in and fly back to America, but that was impossible. He was here now, and he was here for good.

Armin almost couldn't meet the man's gaze. "I am," he said. "It's nice to meet you." Armin was aware of how awkwardly formal he sounded and his stiff posture.

Suddenly, the door flew open and out bound a huge sheepdog, panting and barking. It ran straight to Armin and jumped up at him, trying to lick his cheek. Its paws reached Armin's chest - it was so large that it nearly knocked him back onto the ground. Armin was completely unsure of what to do, so he froze, looking frightened.

"Cerise!" Said Armin's grandfather, laughing. "Leave the poor boy alone."

The dog lumbered away from Armin and to the old man, slobbering slightly onto the grass. She had a shaggy black and white coat of fur, which was matted in places.

"Sorry about that," said the man, grinning. "She has a tendency to be a little over enthusiastic when meeting new people."

"Oh, er, it's fine," Armin said. "Do you want to go on in, sit down, or anything?"

The man laughed. "No, no, I'm perfectly fine out here. If I'm honest, I may have exaggerated about my condition a little to your dear mother."

"Really?" Armin said. "But she said you were being stubborn about getting treatment."

"Of course stubborn would be the word she'd use to describe me." He laughed again. "But no, if I'm honest with you, I only told her that so she'd offer to send you down to me."

Armin looked at him. He was strange - perhaps the strangest old man Armin had ever seen - but he seemed to know it.

"Don't look at me with that expression," said the old man, "I couldn't exactly have you dragged up to Alaska now, could I?"

"It did sound like a pretty miserable offer."

"Exactly!" The old man exclaimed. "Come on in, now, and I'll show you everything, and we can sit down and have something to eat."

Armin followed him inside, Cerise walking behind him.

It was the most cluttered house Armin had ever seen.

The first thing he noticed were the books - they were everywhere. Stacked on windowsills, piled on a stained coffee table in the living room, overflowing from numerous bookshelves. Books on travel, on languages; fiction books, children's books, books so worn that the covers hung from them. There were books in foreign languages, books as slim as a pencil and books as thick as a loaf of bread.

Then, the walls - or more specifically, what covered them - picture frames. The pictures were everywhere and depicted the vastest and varied landscapes Armin had ever seen. There were maps too, maps of places Armin didn't even recognise, and maps so old that they weren't even accurate.

"This is amazing…" Armin breathed.

"From what your mother's told me about you, I'd gathered that you'd like it. Although it does get a bit cramped."

"No, but really… this is all yours?"

"Every single thing you see here is something I collected on my travels," the man said proudly. "But as you can see, I'm a bit too old for that now." He sat down slowly on a chair, sighing as he did so.

"Still, it's amazing."

"Thank you. You wouldn't turn the radio on for me, would you?"

"Yeah, of course," Armin said, walking over to the little box and flicking it on.

Music filled the room, and Armin barely understood a word of it. He listened as carefully as he could until his grandfather laughed again.

"I take it your French is pretty rusty," he said, chuckling.

"Rusty? I barely know a word," Armin said, and his worry was clear on his face.

"Don't worry about it. The boys down at the farm can speak English well, I've heard them doing it. You'll be alright, and from what your mother's said, you're a quick learner."

"I hope so," Armin said.

"You take after your mother, worrywart. Go into the kitchen and grab some food if you want to. What's mine is yours now."

"Thanks!" Armin said, surprised by how laid-back the man was, and ignoring the use of the word 'worrywart'. He had expected him to be, somehow, more… strict?

Despite this, Armin still hadn't worked up the courage to initiate a conversation about the third matter of convenience - his own.

Armin had always wanted to be a writer. He did well at it in school - or so his teachers said - and he enjoyed it when he had the inspiration.

That was the problem - inspiration.

It came fleetingly, like a shy animal venturing from its home, and it never lasted long, leaving Armin with unfinished story after unfinished story. Most of the time, he didn't get past the first few pages before giving up. And so, he concluded, that a change of pace would do him good. Especially if that change of pace was going to live with a man with an unlimited number of stories to tell.

The problem he faced now was that he was too shy to ask for any of them. But this didn't worry him too much. He was sure he'd get there eventually.

The kitchen was just as cluttered as the sitting room and hallway. Due to the overstocked spice rack and numerous cookbooks, Armin suspected that his grandfather cooked everything himself, just like his mother did. The fridge held plenty of foods Armin didn't recognise, so he settled with a glass of lemonade - at least, he thought it was lemonade. He couldn't quite tell from the label, but it smelled like lemons, so he took a calculated risk.

He was right, and oddly proud of it.

When Armin walked back into the sitting room, he was surprised to find his grandfather asleep in the chair, Cerise lying at his feet.

What was he supposed to do now? He hadn't even been there for ten minutes and he'd already been left to his own devices.

Armin deliberated for five minutes on whether he should go and try to find his room, and eventually decided to just go and do it. The stairs were creaky, and Armin was worried he would wake his grandfather, but when he reached the landing, he could still hear the man's snores over the radio. Armin hoped that he didn't snore like that all the time.

There were three doors on the second floor. One, Armin presumed, was the bathroom, and the other two belonged to the bedrooms. Armin opened the door on the left and was met with what felt like the largest room in the house. It probably wasn't the biggest room at all- it was just the most spacious, due to the fact that there wasn't stuff _everywhere_. For this reason, Armin thought it safe to assume that he had gotten right the first time, and the room was his. He set down his luggage at the end of the bed.

Halfway through unclasping his bag, Armin noticed the view from the window.

It was stunning. The sky was a perfect, bright blue - a stark contrast to Seattle's grey, overcast clouds. It seemed to merge into the ocean on the horizon, the sparkling, bright ocean, filled with happy swimmers. Families walked down the street, chatting absent-mindedly. A man sold ice cream on the corner, and on the other end of the street stood a cart where people bought strawberries by the dozen.

It was happy, and peaceful, and bright. Definitely something Armin could get used to.

Armin kept glancing out at the view from his window as he packed away the clothes he had brought. His books, too, soon lined the shelf above his bed in perfect alphabetical order. He put the French dictionary and one other Teach Yourself French book onto his bedside table, and then went back downstairs, being careful to avoid the creaky parts of the stairs.

Cerise was sat waiting for him at the bottom when he got there. She looked at him excitedly and lumbered to the door, looking from it to Armin as if to say come on, let me out.

Armin wasn't sure if he should, but from the way the dog was acting, this was what she normally did when she wanted to go outside, so he opened the door to let her out.

And there was a boy standing at the end of the garden, just opening the gate. He was far taller than Armin - Armin could see that, even from a distance, and they looked about the same ages. In his hand, the boy carried two milk bottles.

"Qui es-tu?" He said, and Armin stared at him dumbfoundedly. What did that mean? Did it begin with what - no, who?

Armin thought about saying the only French he knew - Je ne parle pas Francais - but he had found that his mouth had gone completely dry.

"Uh, non," was all Armin managed to say, and then -

"Oh, you're English?" The boy said. His French accent was heavy, but his English was perfect.

"Yeah," Armin said quickly. "Well, no. American." Being confronted by an actual real-life French person wasn't something Armin had anticipated this early on in his trip, even if he could speak English.

"Ah. Well, bienvenue," he said, walking up the path. "Why are you in Mr Arlert's house?"

Armin looked at him blankly.

"That means welcome. Is your French really that bad?"

Armin felt a slow blush on his cheeks. That was pretty humiliating.

"He's my grandfather." Armin ignored what the boy had said.

"You're Mr. Arlert's grandson?" The boy squinted at him. "I guess I can see it. Well, my name is Jean."

"John?"

" _Jean_."

"Oh, okay. Sorry."

"It's fine. Common mistake with you foreigners." Jean grinned. Armin looked at him. He was skinny, but pretty muscular - far more than Armin could ever hope to be. He had a face that seemed to rest in a smirk, and eyes that that narrowed when he talked.

Jean outstretched his hand and Armin shook it nervously.

"What's the matter, you don't shake hands in America?" He laughed.

Armin's cheeks grew hotter. "Of course we do!"

"So you're from America? I thought Mr. Arlert was English?" Jean carried on.

"He is. My parents moved away when I was a baby."

"Right. Well, what's your name?"

"Armin."

"Well, _Armin_ , can I get past?"

Remembering the bottles in Jean's hand, Armin stepped aside.

"I accidentally dropped off the wrong milk this morning," the boy explained. "Farm's understaffed, so things get mixed up a lot. Anyway, see you later, American guy," he said, stepping around Armin and leaving through the front gate.

Armin stood there for several moments, trying to get his heart to stop pounding with the anxiety that came with meeting new people (especially people a little intense).

He turned around to see his grandfather coming out of the sitting room, yawning.

"Was that Jean?" The man asked.

"Yeah," Armin said. "He was re-delivering the milk. Said he brought the wrong one earlier."

"Typical of him." The old man said. "Pass it to me, would you?"

Armin gave it to him and the man placed it carefully in the fridge. Back in the sitting room, Armin told him how he'd already been to his room, and how much he enjoyed the view. They talked for a little while and listened to the radio, and then Armin retreated to his room while his grandfather cooked.

They ate a couple hours later, and Armin told his grandfather more about his parents, how he had grown up. The man was interested in what he had to say - something his parents hadn't exactly been, and all in all, Armin so far was thoroughly surprised by everything about his situation.

When the sun set, Cerise made good company on the sofa, and when his grandfather fell asleep, Armin woke and guided him to his bedroom before returning to his own for the night. For hours he poured over his French books, and when dawn broke, Armin was still cross-legged in bed, book in hand, and asleep, his head lolling forward onto his chest.

It was going to be an interesting trip.


	2. Chapter 2 - Getting To Know You

When Armin woke up the next morning it was to soft light streaming though a gap in the curtains and the sound of voices outside. Armin had no idea what the voices were saying, excepting the odd word, but he was content with listening to the language as he lay half-awake, half-asleep. His back hurt badly from sleeping hunched over; sometime in the early hours, he had woken up and laid down properly.

After five minutes he became restless and got out of bed. A quick glance in the mirror told Armin that his long, dirty-blonde hair was sticking out at odd angles and in need of a wash. Quickly, he threw on a shirt and some trousers, and head downstairs, following the smell of fresh bread.

His grandfather was already in the kitchen, leaning on his walking stick while he made breakfast with one hand.

"You're awake, finally," he said. "I was considering setting Cerise on you, you know, and that would have gotten you out of bed faster than anything. Pass the jam, Armin, it's in the fridge."

Armin found the jam - _confiture -_ in the fridge and passed it to him. His grandfather had buttered two croissants. Armin had never tried one before, but they smelled amazing.

"Jean dropped them over with the milk. He told me you'd better thank him, and you'd better do it in French." He laughed. "Here, take this," the man said, passing over his breakfast.

"Thank you," Armin said. "So is Jean here a lot?"

"Most days. He's been working on that farm since he was twelve years old."

"Since he was _twelve?"_ Armin said, shocked.

"Yep. He's a hard worker, and he's sweet. You ought to make friends with him, you know. You can't just sit around here all the time."

Armin sat and thought. Making friends wasn't the first thing he'd had on his mind, but what harm could it do?

"But how?" Armin said, taking his first bite of the croissant. "God, that's delicious."

"That's because it's French, not American processed rubbish," Armin's grandfather said, "and just talk to him. I'm sure he'd teach you French if you asked."

"Really?" Armin said. "You think he would do that? He seemed a little… I don't know…"

"Intense?"

"Yeah."

"He is," the man said simply. "But you'll get used to him."

"Don't you need me here, though? Isn't that why I came in the first place?"

"I'll be alright." The man said. "I seem fine to you, don't I?"

"I guess, yeah," Armin said. "But don't you think I should at least be-"

"Just have a bath and go out. Pick me up a pastry while you're there."

"Alright." Armin said, feeling slightly defeated. Despite his disappointment at not being able to stay in and study French, he supposed that at least he would be able to get a feel for the town. Perhaps while out he would work up the courage to tell his grandfather about his desire to learn about his travels.

Armin finished his breakfast and went upstairs, where his grandfather showed him how to run the bath properly. Minutes later he was lying peacefully below the bubbles, thinking. How would he fit in in this town? Armin deliberated on asking his grandfather to come into the town with him, but decided against it. If he was going, he was going to just go and sit on the beach with a book, then pick up whatever his grandfather had asked him to get at the bakery.

After getting out of the bath Armin waited for his hair to dry, got dressed, and grabbed his books. He headed out into the warm air of early summer, the breeze gentle and cooling. His grandfather waved from the door and looked on with anticipation. The beach was just ahead, and Armin was just about to cross the road to sit the sand when a boy on a bike skidded to a halt in front of him - it was Jean. He grinned, his hat falling of his head slightly.

"Going to the beach?" He asked.

"Yeah," Armin said, gesturing to his French books.

"Sorry, I'm afraid not," Jean said.

"What?"

"You can't even understand English now? _I said,_ I'm afraid n-"

"I know that's what you said," Armin interrupted, "but why not? I thought you wanted me to study."

"You're never going to learn from a crusty old book like that," Jean said. "Mr. Arlert asked me to teach you this morning, anyway."

"He did?" Armin turned around to look at the door, but his grandfather had gone.

"What, do you think I'm lying?" Jean said.

"No, but why?"

"Because in case you hadn't noticed, I'm French. And I'm a pretty good teacher."

"You're quite confident."

"Got a problem?" Jean grinned again, took Armin's book from his hands, and put it in his bag. "I'm your book," he laughed. "You don't need those."

"If you say so," Armin said dubiously.

"Don't be like that," Jean said, starting to push his bicycle down the street. Armin followed him. "Come on, anyway; the tour begins! I hope you like farms, because I've got to go there quickly and grab something before we really start."

"That's fine," Armin said, watching him. He was a pretty interesting character. As he'd said to his grandfather - intense. "What do you need to get?"

"My camera."

"Your camera?"

"Yeah, you take pictures with it."

"I _know_ what a camera is."

Jean laughed. "Yeah, it's a hobby. This town's a pretty spot for photography."

"Is that what you want to do? Like, as a job?" Armin asked, trying to involve himself in the conversation.

"Sort of, yeah. I want to move to Paris and do it there, but I can't yet."

"Why not?"

"God, you're all about the questions, aren't you? What about you, anyway?"

"What about me?"

"What are you doing in France?"

Armin shrugged. "It was a pretty last minute thing, I guess. My parents moved to Alaska, and I thought coming here would be better than going with them. But you didn't answer my question-"

"Alaska sounds great," Jean said. "I would have gone."

"I didn't really want to spend a year with only my parents for company."

"Fair enough." They had reached outskirts of the village. Jean turned left through a fence and onto a bumpy path leading to a thick ring of trees. The sun was still shining brightly. In the distance, Armin could see a lake he hadn't noticed on his journey here. He could make out figures of people swimming in it.

"So how did you learn English?" Armin said, looking up at Jean. "You're really good."

"Practise," Jean said. "And my dad was English. Mum just ended up teaching it to me when I was little."

"Your dad's English? Where does he come from?"

"Devon," Jean said. "But I've never met him. Died a couple months after he got mum pregnant."

"In the war…?"

"Yeah."

"I'm really sorry."

"Don't be," Jean said. "It's not like I know what I'm missing out on."

"Still. I'm sorry," Armin said.

"Thanks. We're here, now, anyway." He leaned his bicycle on a tree and gestured for Armin to follow him. "It's just around the corner."

The path turned right and became narrower; they sidestepped through an opening in a bush, and at the bottom of a small hill was the farm.

It wasn't the largest Armin had seen, but it was certainly the prettiest. Where there weren't crops, wildflowers grew in pastel shades of pink and purple, and in the distance cows grazed on the grass. It was small and humble, but still busy. Armin waited at the top of the hill for a moment before Jean gestured again for him to follow.

When they reached the bottom the all-too-recognisable smell of a farm hit Armin's nose. Jean noticed the way his nose scrunched up and laughed.

"You'll get used to it." He said, heading into a building on the right. "It's a whole lot better than city air, anyway." He added, turning back to look at Armin's dubious expression.

"Didn't you just say you wanted to move to Paris?" Armin asked, but Jean didn't hear him - he had started calling to someone in French, and Armin had no idea what he was saying. A shout soon came from the other side of the farm, and a boy came running towards them. He was far taller than Armin _and_ Jean, and his face was shiny with the exertion of heavy labour. His hair was a dark brown and pushed back from his face.

"Jean!" He said, and then started speaking French. Armin stood awkwardly, hearing their conversation but not actually listening to it. The only thing he could deduce from it was from the tone of their voices; judging by the way they spoke to each other, Armin guessed they were good friends.

Armin knew Jean could tell he was uncomfortable; mid-sentence, he'd caught Armin's eye and winked at him, as if to say _get used to it._ Eventually, Jean ran off to grab his camera, leaving Armin and the other boy alone.

"I'm sorry I do not speak good English," he said. "My name is Bertholdt. It's good to meet you."

"I'm Armin," Armin said nervously. "And it's really fine. I speak no French at all."

"Oh, right. Are you friends with Jean?"

"Uh, kind of. I only met him yesterday. Why?"

"Oh. I thought because he shows you his camera, you are friends already."

"Well, it's probably just because he knows my grandfather." Armin said, but he was happy for some reason. Maybe he and Jean could become better friends - perhaps he wasn't just doing this because his grandfather asked him to.

"Oh, you are Mr. Arlert's grandson?" Bertholdt asked.

"How did you know?"

"Jean said last week that you were coming."

"What? Are you sure?" Jean already knew he was coming? Then why had he asked who he was yesterday?

"Yeah," Bertholdt said, just as Jean ran back to them. He had taken off his hat, and his hair poked up at odd angles. He kept smoothing it down, but to no avail. His shorts were knee-length and he wore a plain t-shirt, just like Armin's - but somehow he just looked cooler. Perhaps it was the knowing smirk, or the camera around his neck, but something about Jean was intimidatingly appealing to Armin. Was he the most popular guy in town? Did French towns even work like that? Armin's head was buzzing with questions he was too shy to ask.

"Ready?" He asked Armin, who quickly realised he had been staring.

"Er, yeah," Armin said, following Jean, who was already making his way out of the farm. "It was nice to meet you, Bertholdt."

"You too." He smiled. Armin thought him kind for someone who looked so intimidatingly strong.

"See you!" Jean shouted. He held the gate open for Armin and they passed through it and started walking back up the hill.

"So what have you got in store for me?" Armin asked.

"What do you want to see?"

"Well, I want to see the beach. I mean, like, properly. Paddling and all that. And my grandfather asked me to pick up something for him at the bakery."

"Okay, that sounds good, I can do that," Jean said. "But you're paddling by yourself."

"You don't like the water?"

"The water's fine. I just don't like getting my camera near it."

"Oh, yeah. Are you going to take some pictures?"

"I might. If I see something worth taking a picture of." His eyes lingered on Armin before looking up at the sky. "It's a nice day for it."

Armin wanted to ask to see Jean's photographs, but once again he felt too nervous to ask, so he kept quiet, and admired the scenery as it passed them. Armin had thought that it might be awkward if neither of them said anything, but the walk passed in a peaceful silence, until Jean spoke again.

"So what did you and Bert talk about while I was getting my camera?"

Armin looked over at him and shrugged. "Nothing much. He seems nice." He decided not to mention what Bertholdt had said to him about Jean.

"Yeah, he is."

"Have you been friends long?"

"Couple years. Just through work, really."

"Yeah. My grandfather mentioned you've been working there since you were twelve. That's pretty crazy."

"Not really," Jean said, "it isn't unusual around here. Is it where you're from?"

"Well, yeah," Armin said. "Weren't you still at school?"

"I only just finished school. There's still time to work before and after school, and at the weekend."

"And you still managed to fit in photography with that? That's insane."

"Thanks. But it wasn't really that hard. The _real_ challenge will be teaching you French."

"Wow, thanks." Armin said sarcastically, but he was nervous. Did Jean not actually _want_ to teach him French?

Jean laughed. "I'm messing with you. You seem smart enough to me."

Armin looked at him then - surprised - because Jean seemed genuine. He was smiling, and his hazel eyes were lit up. It made Armin happy, and hopeful, too; Jean seemed a little friendlier now, a little more approachable. The nerves in his stomach settled a little, replaced by a warm feeling.

"Thanks," Armin said, smiling back, and hoping that Jean wouldn't notice how hot his cheeks felt.

They walked for a few minutes more, until they made it back to the town. Armin noticed how tightly Jean held his camera as they walked. He was obviously very protective of it.

They made it down to the beach a short while later, and sat on the sand next to each other. It had grown hotter in the time it had taken to walk from the farm to the beach, and Armin found himself sweating as the sun beat down on his back. The water looked cool, clear and inviting from where they were sat, and Armin desperately wanted to get in.

"Not yet," Jean said, noticing the way Armin looked at the body of water. "I promised your old man that I'd teach you some French."

Armin complied to his request, and Jean started pointing out basic things and telling Armin their French names. Many of them were similar to English words, and Armin found it surprisingly easy to pick up all of their names. Jean seemed impressed, and so he soon went on to the basics of conversational French.

Armin found him to be a very good teacher, and he understood far more from Jean than what he'd read in his French book. Learning the different rules and formalities of French was fascinating to Armin, somehow; he wasn't sure that it was because he was simply interested or because Jean had taught him.

"You're good at this," Jean said, after Armin had correctly told him his name, his age, and where he was from in French. "Your pronunciation could do with some work, but that's not a big problem at all."

Armin could feel his cheeks turning red with embarrassment. He wasn't used to such genuine compliments. "Thank you," he said. "I mean it. Thanks for teaching me all this."

"Don't get all proud of yourself just yet, it could just be beginners luck," Jean said seriously, but laughed when he saw Armin's crestfallen expression. "I'm joking with you, idiot."

"Oh," Armin said. "Stop doing that!"

"No way, it's too funny. Anyway," Jean said, looking around. "It's less busy in the water now, are you going in or not?"

"Oh, right, yeah," Armin said. Caught up in learning, he'd completely forgotten about what he'd actually wanted to do. He got up and brushed the sand from his legs, took off his shoes and socks, and began rolling up his trousers. Jean sat, fiddling with his camera.

"I told you I'm not coming in," Jean said. "I want to take a couple photos now the beach is less busy."

"Leave me out of them!" Armin said. He'd always been self-conscious around cameras. He didn't even like it when people looked at him for too long.

"Fine, fine, but only if you stay out of the way."

Armin headed down to the ocean. The sand was hot and hurt his feet to walk on, but once he reached the water, he found it to be freezing, despite the warmth of the air around him.

"What did you expect?" Jean shouted from where he was sat, laughing at Armin as he yelled at the cold. "This is the north of France, not the south!"

Armin laughed too, and his feet soon got used to the cold (either that, or they went numb - he couldn't tell the difference). He watched Jean as he took photos on the large camera. How many did he have, Armin wondered? Hundreds? However many, Armin was desperate to see them - even more so, he wanted to see the things he photographed in the flesh.

Armin looked up at the sky, the French sky, and smiled. He liked it here a lot more than he had anticipated he would, and it was only his second day. The cool sea breeze running through his hair, the gentle sound of waves breaking on the shore, the caw of seagulls in the distance. The town was perfect, and Armin had the whole summer to enjoy it; even longer if he wanted. And Jean - a friend, perhaps? He seemed friendly enough, and Armin liked him, despite the fact he was constantly winding him up. Back on the beach, Jean had put his hat back on, but the wind kept blowing it off. Armin laughed to himself at the sight.

When he'd cooled down enough, Armin walked back over to Jean and spent far too long trying to get the sand off his feet before they got up and left. They walked around the town for a while, and Jean told Armin what the name of every shop meant as they passed. Jean sporadically took pictures whenever he thought something looked interesting, and much to his pleasure, Armin watched with admiration and fascination. Eventually they reached the bakery.

"Go on, then." Jean gestured to the door. "This is your first challenge. Go and buy something."

"That's so soon!" Armin exclaimed. "I've only been learning for a few hours!"

"It's not hard. We've been over it already."

"I know, but this is different."

"How is it?"

"It's not you!"

"Come on. I'll go in with you, but you're doing the talking. How's that sound?"

"Fine," Armin grumbled. "But if I mess up, promise you'll take over."

"Alright, fine. But you have to at least try."

"Thanks," Armin grinned. "Or should I say, _merci."_

"Just get in there already," Jean laughed.

Armin opened the door and stepped inside, the smell of freshly baked pastries filling his nose. A girl stood behind the counter listening to the radio. She was short, and her expression remained disinterested when the bell _tinged_ to let her know Armin and Jean had come in. Her blonde hair was tied up and hidden behind a net.

"Bonjour," Armin said. That was the easy part, but saying it still made him feel sick.

"Bonjour." She replied, not taking her eyes from the radio.

Armin took a deep breath and looked over at Jean, who nodded encouragingly. He walked over the counter, where all manners of pastry lay doing nothing but looking delicious. Which should he pick? Would Jean judge him on his choice? Armin pushed the thought from his mind and concentrated on what he would have to say. After dithering for a minute, the girl behind the counter raised her eyebrows at him, as if to say _hurry the hell up._

"Uh… _Je voudrais trois croissants, s'il vous plait_ ," Armin said nervously. He'd made sure to ask for three, and to add the thank you at the end. The girl looked intimidating.

" _Oui_ ," she said, then: " _voila._ "

Armin passed her the money he owed her, took the croissants, and quickly got out of the shop. He hadn't noticed how hot and stuffy the air had felt in there until the bell chimed again and he met the cool breeze.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Jean said, smiling. They'd set off walking again; Armin wasn't sure where to, but Jean seemed like he knew where he was going, so Armin followed.

"I guess not," Armin said, "but I'm still scared as hell."

Another laugh from Jean. "Get some confidence. I told you, you're good."

"Well, you could have gone to a shop with a less scary-looking girl inside!"

"Scary-looking girls not your type?" Jean said, watching Armin intently.

"No. Though I can't say that that must come as a surprise."

"Well, that's good, then. I'm not sure you'd be Annie's type either,"

"You know her?"

"Yeah. She's sweet for Bertholdt, but don't mention that around her. I did, and let's just say I received a swift kick to an area I'd rather wasn't kicked."

Armin winced. "Ouch. I feel sorry for Bertholdt."

"Ahh, she's nice once you get to know her. But that does take a while."

"It sounds like scary-looking girls might be your type," Armin said suggestively, hoping he wouldn't be disappointed.

"No, definitely not," Jean said. "Never been interested in girls, really. Too busy with work to have time."

"Fair enough," Armin said, wondering if that meant what he thought it meant. "Where are you taking me now, anyway?"

"There's a lake not far from here. I was just going to go and take some pictures - shit, wait, do you want to take those back first?" He said, gesturing to the croissants.

"Yeah, alright. I got one for you, though. Come in and grab some lunch or something?"

Jean looked surprised, almost, but accepted. "It'll be nice to see Cerise," he added, and they turned back in the opposite direction to go back to Armin's new house. When they reached it, Armin's grandfather was sat outside drinking, Cerise curled up in a spot of shade next to him, napping. Armin could hear the radio playing from inside.

"Back for lunch, are you?" He asked. "There's food in the kitchen. What did you get?"

"Croissants. I think he was too shy to ask for anything he didn't know the name of, Annie was running the shop today," Jean laughed.

"You learned a lot, then?" The old man asked Armin.

"Yeah, loads. Thanks again, Jean."

Jean rubbed the back of his head, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to hide his smile. "S'no problem. What's for lunch, Mr. Arlert?"

"There's some pasta left over in the kitchen for you both. It's good to see you're getting along. Armin, pass me a croissant, would you?"

He took the pastry from Armin and watched as he and Jean went inside, smiling to himself. Armin handed him a croissant, and Jean wrapped it up to eat later.

They went back outside to eat their lunch, and sat in the shade. For a little while, Jean and Armin's grandfather spoke about people Armin didn't know. Soon they descended into silence, and listened to the radio while eating. Jean ate quickly, and waited for Armin to finish before addressing Mr. Arlert again.

"We're going over to the lake now," he said. "Do you want us to take Cerise?"

"Yes, thanks. You could do with a walk, couldn't you?" Cerise's ears perked up at the word _walk_ and her tail began to wag.

Armin's legs were aching a little from all the walking, so when they left the house again, he lagged behind, watching Jean as he walked with Cerise down the road. For an old dog, she was surprisingly fast, and Jean walked quickly to keep up with her. Armin smiled as he watched them; he admired the way Jean kept her on the inside of the sidewalk, and held her lead tightly. He would bend over almost every minute to rub her head, and chatted to her in French. Armin was content just looking.

"Hey, hurry up," Jean said once they were out of the main part of the town, and the houses were becoming further and fewer between. "I want to get out of here and go to the lake."

Armin ran to catch up with him. "What's the rush?"

"Nothing," Jean said, his eyes flicking to the left. "Come on."

"How far is it from here?"

"Not too far," Jean said, turning to look behind him.

"Alright. The houses around here are pretty, aren't they?" Armin said, admiring the large gardens.

"Yep," Jean said curtly.

"Jean!" Called voices from the distance, and then a string of French words Armin couldn't make heads or tail of, though they sounded vicious. Armin turned to see several boys and a girl standing at the end of the road. It looked like they were laughing.

"Who are they?"

Jean looked embarrassed; his cheeks were flushed pink. "Nobody. Come on."

"What were they saying?"

Jean's blush deepened. "Nothing!"

"Do they live around here?"

"… Yeah."

"Are they why you wanted me to hurry?"

"Obviously."

"… I didn't think there'd be kids like that around here."

"There are kids like that around everywhere."

The silence was painful. Cerise pulled on her lead and Jean sped up to match her pace.

"Don't worry about it. I know how you feel."

"Really?"

"Look at me," Armin laughed. "I'm not exactly _cool._ "

Jean laughed too, but then smiled. "You seem pretty cool to me. Though I've only known you for a day, so I guess you've got all summer to mess up."

"All summer?" Armin raised his eyebrows.

This time, it was Jean's turn to look stricken. "Well, I - I mean, if you want, I didn't mean to presume, it's just-"

Armin was doubled over laughing. "I'm joking," he said, but by the time he had finished laughing, Jean had realised and was glaring at him pointedly. "Of course I want to spend the summer with you. You're giving me free French lessons. And, you know, you're cool."

"I can't be-"

"But, I mean," Armin interrupted, smirking, "Though I've only known you for a day, so I guess you've got all summer to mess up…"

"Oh, fuck off," Jean laughed.

They joked with each other until the lake appeared from behind a hill. They sat on the bank and watched Cerise swim in the cool water. Then, Armin watched as Jean fiddled with his camera and started taking pictures of Cerise and some of the flowers growing around them.

"Mum likes the ones of flowers." Jean said quietly, squinting as he focused the camera.

"Where do you develop them? I haven't seen a camera place around here, or whatever they're called."

"I do it myself."

"For real?"

"Yeah. In the attic."

"That's really cool."

Jean laughed. "Not really. It's cramped as hell in there. But thanks."

"You're welcome."

Armin lay back on the grass, stole a glance at Jean, and then closed his eyes. The French summer air smelled fresh and the breeze was cool, and Armin was perfectly content. Soon, Jean lay down next to him, about a foot away, and they stared up at the clouds.

Life in France had quickly gone from not so bad to surprisingly good - Armin just hoped it would last.


	3. Chapter 3 - Not Into Girls

Within a week, May had turned to June, and Armin and Jean grew closer with every day that passed. Armin was beginning to get used to French life - the earlier starts in the morning, the calm and pleasant atmosphere, the long walks. Armin didn't quite understand his grandfather, though. To him, the old man didn't seem so sick at all, although Armin figured he'd be the type to lie about it if he were anything like his parents.

Armin would usually be coming back from the bakery (he was confident enough in his to go alone, now), or watering the plants with his grandfather when Jean would bring the milk in the mornings, and they'd talk for a little while before Jean had to get to the next house. Then, after his shift finished and he'd gone home for lunch, Jean would stroll over to Armin's, and they'd take a walk. Armin's French was improving every day, and Jean was impressed and slightly surprised by how quickly he was grasping the language.

They'd devised a game they'd simply named Questions, and found that it was a good way to keep the conversation going and teach Armin at the same time. One of them would ask a question, and the other would answer it. Then Jean would teach him how to say something related to the answer in French. With every question, Jean became more fascinating to Armin than he had before..

"What's your favourite colour?" Armin asked him. They were sat at the lake again - it had become their go-to place to talk. Armin held a notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other, waiting for Jean to give his answer so he could write it down in French.

" _Vert_ ," Jean said, not taking his eyes off Cerise as she swam in the cool, clear water of the lake.

"Green," Armin said, making a note of it.

"What's yours?"

"Blue."

" _Bleu_. Why?"

Armin looked up from his notebook. "Because it's the colour of the ocean."

"You really love the ocean, huh?"

"Yeah." A pause. "It's your turn to ask a question."

"Okay…" he thought for a moment. "If you had to live in one country for the rest of your life, what one would it be?"

Armin laughed. "Are you just saying that because you want me to say France?"

Jean scoffed. "Of course not."

"Liar."

Jean laughed too. "Alright, you got me. But come on. It would be France."

"I've only been here for one week!"

"Doesn't matter," Jean said, waving his hand, "France is the best. Although I can admit your country comes out with pretty good music."

"You've got that right," Armin joked. He lay back on the grass of the hillside and admired the water.

"Hey, listen, I don't think I'm going to be able to do this tomorrow. One of the guys is sick and Bertholdt asked me to take his shift, so I'm working all day."

Armin rolled to the side and rested his head on his arm. "Okay," he said, "but are you still going to get to go home for lunch?"

"Probably not. I'll just have a big breakfast, and steal some of Bert's baguette maybe."

"Have a big dinner, too, then," Armin said, and rolled back over.

"Sure thing, mum," Jean teased, and lay down next to him.

"You're _so_ funny."

Jean stuck out his tongue.

"And mature, it seems." Armin laughed. "Anyway… what's your favourite band?"

"Nobody has one favourite band! And you didn't answer my last question!"

"I'll get back to you on it. I haven't spent enough time here to decide."

"Fine. And probably Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones… the usual, I guess."

"But if you _had_ to choose."

Jean blushed. "It's embarrassing."

"Tell me!"

"Edith Piaf," He mumbled. "But only because my mum likes her, okay?"

"...Who?"

"Come on, you know the one, she's so famous!" He cleared his throat. "You know the song. _Non, rein de rein, non, je ne regrette rein…"_

Armin looked sideways at him. "You've got a nice voice. Sure it was a photographer you wanted to be, not a singer?"

"Shut your mouth," Jean glared, before noticing Armin's smile and laughing.

"I'm being serious!"

"You are not."

It's was Armin's turn to stick out his tongue.

"Wow, look who the mature one is now!"

"Phht. You turn."

"Fine. So I know you already know about me, but what do you want to do? As a job?"

Armin shrugged, too embarrassed to say it. "I dunno."

"Now you're the liar," Jean said. "Tell me!"

"It's stupid," Armin said, covering his face with his hair.

"I bet it isn't," Jean said, more softly.

Armin looked at him through his fringe. "Fine. I want to be a writer."

"What, like a journalist? How's that stupid?"

"No, not a journalist. Like… an author. I want to write books. Fiction books."

"That's not stupid either! That's really cool, you should do it!"

"But it's so unrealistic," Armin smiled at the ground. "It wouldn't ever happen."

"I'd read a book by you. You shouldn't settle for anything less than the best, anyway."

Armin looked at him, his eyes threatening to spill with tears. Jean was the first person that hadn't laughed when Armin said what he wanted to do, and to encourage him to reach for it. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"Can I've read something you've written?" Jean asked.

"Er… I don't have much," Armin said. "I've got a bit of a problem with my writing."

"What?"

"I don't have inspiration," he said.

"I have an idea! Why don't you-"

"-ask my grandfather?"

"Yeah, exactly."

"His stories are one of the reasons I chose to come here," Armin said, "but I can't pluck up the courage to ask him to tell me one."

"Just ask him. He used to tell them to me, too, when mum-" he went quiet suddenly.

"What?" Armin asked, curious.

"Doesn't matter. But yeah, I reckon you'd be a good writer. You'd be like Arthur Rimbaud."

"Who's that?"

"A French poet from last century. French."

"I didn't have you down as the poetry type."

"I'm not, really. I just like him. I thought you would have known who he was. Weren't you a beatnik or whatever?"

Armin laughed. "I'm nowhere near cool enough to hang out with the beatniks."

"Maybe they'd give you some inspiration."

"Phht, I don't think so. But how do you think I should ask my grandfather about the stories?"

"Just go up to him and ask. He'd love to tell you, I swear it."

"You sure?"

"Positive," Jean said. "Your turn, by the way."

Armin paused and thought for a moment. "What's your biggest fear?"

Jean was silent for a moment. He glanced at Armin quickly, and then stared at the ground, deep in thought. He looked as if he were about to say something, but then his whole face changed, and he shrugged.

"I dunno, heights, maybe?" He said.

"Heights?"

"Well, more falling from them. It's called _acrophobie_ in French. What about you?"

He waited as Armin scribbled the word down. "I don't know, really," Armin said. "I guess I have a fear of failure. I know I'll probably have to give up writing some day and get a real job, and that's pretty terrifying."

"But writing is a real job."

"You know what I mean."

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong. Let me read some of your stuff when you write it."

"Fine," Armin said. "But if you laugh, I'll kill you."

"You can try," Jean said, almost flirtatiously, Armin thought.

"I will," Armin grinned back.

Cerise plodded back over to them after that, shaking off her wet coat. Jean hooked her back onto the lead.

"We'd better get back soon," he said, looking up at the sky, which had become dark and overcast while they were talking. "It's getting cold."

"You're telling me," Armin said, rubbing his arms, which were covered with goosebumps.

"Take my coat." Jean held it out to him. "I'm not wearing it. Take it."

Armin felt his cheeks growing hot again. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Armin took the coat and put it on. "Perfume?" He asked, smelling the strong scent of flowers. There was something else there, too; the smell of a campfire.

"My mum's, probably."

"You got me thinking you were a ladies man again there," Armin laughed.

"Told you," Jean said, "I'm not into girls. Now come on, I want to get back in case it rains."

 _Not into girls._ Armin tried to ignore the conclusion his brain was coming to.

"Okay." He said, and tried to think of a way to change the subject. "Did you get any good pictures, then?"

"I hope so. Won't know until I develop them, I guess. I'll show you when I finish with them."

"I'd like that." Armin smiled.

"That coat is ridiculously big on you," Jean said.

"Well, rather this than cold. It's comfy." Armin said, rolling up the sleeves so he could see his hands again.

"It's still ridiculous," Jean laughed. "Okay, my turn. Favourite food?"

"My next-door neighbor used to do good barbeques. Probably that."

"You're so American."

"What's yours?" Armin asked, ignoring him.

"Nothing beats a pain au raisin."

"I haven't tried one yet."

"They're amazing. Anyway, your turn."

"Okay… what do you do when you can't sleep?"

Jean raised his eyebrows. "What all men do when they can't sleep, dumbass."

Armin sighed and tried to ignore the ever-growing blush on his cheeks. "Nice," he said sarcastically.

Jean laughed. "You asked! Besides, what did you expect?"

"I don't know! I just couldn't think of a question!"

Jean shook his head, still laughing. "You're hopeless, you know that?"

"All too well."

The sun was setting; they'd been out far later than they'd anticipated to. Cerise was tired from her long walk and neither she or Armin could match Jean's fast pace. Armin knew why he was walking quickly; they were in the area where they had first encountered the group that had shouted at Jean.

"What were they saying, Jean? Those people from last week."

"What? Nothing. They're just assholes. Rich twats." He wasn't slowing down.

"Stop walking so quickly, I can't keep up," Armin said. Jean paused and waited for a moment, smiling to himself at the image of Armin, who looked so tiny dressed in his coat and walking a dog that came up to his hip.

"Sorry. I just want to get out of here."

"They didn't say anything about me, did they?"

"No," Jean said. "You'd have known if they had."

"How?"

"Because I'd have punched them," Jean said simply.

"Oh, don't," Armin said. "I hate confrontation."

"Fine, fine."

They walked for a few more minutes, and soon the streetlamps were the only source of light to see by.

"It got dark so quickly," Armin started, but was interrupted by shouting voices in the distance.

"Ah, c'est Jean le pédé!" One of them yelled.

Jean turned back, furious, his face bright red.

"Come on," he said, grabbing Armin's arm and using his other hand to give the group the finger. They ran down the rest of the road and turned into the woods, passing trees so dark they looked like shadows of themselves. Armin was painfully aware of Jean's hand wrapped around his wrist, and embarrassed by how it made him feel.

"Fuck," he said, once they finally stopped. "I hate running."

"Sorry," Jean said, "I just can't stand being around them. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Armin said, panting. He could barely see Jean through the darkness. "Just give me a second's warning next time."

Jean grinned sheepishly. "Okay."

"Jean…?"

"Yeah?"

"You can let go of my arm now."

"Oh! Er - sorry," Jean said, rubbing the back of his head. "I didn't mean-"

"It's fine. But, um, where are we?"

"Shortcut. Come on." Jean said, walking down the path. It'll take you quite close to your house."

"Why don't we always go this way, then?"

Jean shrugged. "Because I like walking with you."

Armin smiled to himself and followed Jean through the woods to his house. The trees looked haunting in the half-light, and despite Jean's coat, Armin could feel shivers down his spine. When they came out of the forest, they were just a five minute walk from Armin's house, and they reached it quickly. Armin climbed onto the sea wall and walked along it.

It was just gone ten thirty when Armin's grandfather let him in the house. Jean stood at the door awkwardly.

"You almost had me worried there," the old man said. "What were you doing out so late?"

"Lost track of time." Armin said. "Jean, how far is it back to your house? Here, hang on. Let give you your coat back. Thanks for letting me wear it."

"About twenty minutes away," Jean said, taking the coat from Armin. "Won't take long."

"But it's dark out." Armin said concernedly. "Why don't you stay here?"

"No! No, you don't have to do that. I'll be fine."

"You sure, Jean?" Armin's grandfather called from where he now sat in the living room. "There's food left over."

Jean faltered slightly. "But there's no spare room."

"I'll sleep on the floor." Armin said. "You sure you don't want to?"

Jean paused. "Fine," he said eventually, and stepped into the house. "It's nice and warm in here."

"Yeah, it's nice. Do you, er, want a drink?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks, though."

Armin stood awkwardly in the entrance, wondering what to say. He'd never invited someone over before.

"Let's go upstairs…?" Jean suggested.

"Yeah, okay, good idea." Armin said, grabbing the food his grandfather had left and following Jean up the stairs.

For once, the radio wasn't on, and all that could be heard from Armin's bedroom was the crackling of the fireplace in the living and the gentle breaking of waves from outside.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take the floor?" Jean asked, starting on the sandwich Armin passed him.

"No, no. You've got to be up early, don't you? So I don't mind." Armin said, throwing one of his blankets and a pillow onto the floor.

"Er, Armin?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it okay if I borrow something to wear to bed? Just like a t-shirt or something."

"Oh, um, yeah! Sure!" Armin said, and passed him a shirt from his drawers. He closed his eyes while Jean changed into it, embarrassed to look.

While Jean got into bed, Armin got changed in the bathroom and quickly brushed his teeth before walking back in and making himself comfortable on the floor. Jean was flicking through the notes he'd made over the past week, his empty plate on Armin's bedside table.

"You sure do write everything down, don't you?" Jean said. Armin noticed that the shirt he'd given was far too small; it didn't reach far past his waist, and Armin could see a hint of his muscular abdomen.

"Yeah," Armin said, refusing to let his eyes linger. "I don't want to let lessons from such a good teacher go to waste."

Jean laughed. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"Hey, thanks for letting me stay here," Jean said, "though I should probably be getting to sleep."

"Alright, I'll turn the light off."

 _Click._

They both paused for a moment.

"Armin?"

"Mm?"

"Are you tired?"

"Yeah, kind of."

"Okay. I'm sorry if I wake you up early tomorrow."

"Don't be." Armin hoped Jean wouldn't be able to see how wide his smile was through the darkness.

Another minute of silence passed.

"Goodnight, Jean."

"'Night."

Though he knew he had to be up by sunrise the next morning, Jean couldn't sleep. He lay awake, listening to the sea gently rolling in and out, and to Armin's breathing as it got slower and slower. After twenty minutes, Jean was sure he had fallen asleep, so thought it safe to look at him.

Armin slept on his side, facing Jean, his hair covering most of his face and splayed out on the pillow. He was smiling ever so slightly, and he had the blanket pulled close to his chest.

Jean eventually fell asleep smiling too.

* * *

The click of his bedroom door closing and the creaking of footsteps on the stairs woke Armin up the next morning. Dreary, still half-asleep, he rolled over to see that dawn was just breaking, and Jean had already left for work. Armin rubbed his eyes, which were closing as sleep called to him again. He managed to grab his blanket and pillow and crawl into his bed before falling back asleep. The bed was warm, and smelt like campfires and women's perfume; Armin pulled a pillow close to him, and held it tightly.

* * *

Hours later, Armin woke up again, still holding the pillow in his arms. He scanned the room for Jean before remembering that he had left when the sunrise was just beginning. Now, it had already passed, and Armin lay staring up at the ceiling.

When he went downstairs, his grandfather was making what Armin thought were probably croissants.

"It's still early," the old man said. "I didn't think you would be up yet."

"I'm getting used to how early the French wake up. Are those croissants?"

"Yep."

"Are they difficult to make?"

"Not particularly."

"Are pain au raisins hard to make?"

"They're a little harder, but not too hard. What's with the sudden interest in cooking?"

"I wanted to make one for Jean. He mentioned he liked them. I thought it would be a thank you, sort of."

"Of course you can. You're lucky I've got brioche dough left in the fridge from yesterday, though."

"Thanks," Armin said.

Armin liked cooking. He hadn't done any since moving, but he was half-decent. His grandfather slowly taught him the steps so he would remember them better. While he did so, Armin wondered if now would be a good time to ask if he would divulge his travelling tales. Thinking about what Jean had said to him, Armin decided it was.

"Grandfather," Armin said, taking a deep breath, "would you tell me about what it was like to travel?"

The old man chuckled. "I thought you'd never ask. Your mother mentioned you wanted to know."

Armin's face turned red hot with embarrassment. So he'd known all along!

"I'd be happy to tell you one tonight over tea, if you're going to be out for lunch."

"Uh, yeah, sure! Thank you!" Armin said. "Would it be okay if I wrote some of it down?"

"Of course it would. But what for?"

"I, er…" Armin rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I'd hoped it would give me some inspiration to write."

"You're a writer? Your mother never mentioned that one."

"Well, I want to be."

"That only makes me all the more glad you weren't dragged up to Alaska." The man laughed.

Armin smiled. "Me too," he said.

"You can put that in the fridge now. You need to let it cool for an hour."

"Alright. I think I'm going to go study, then."

"You'll be fluent in no time!" The old man laughed.

"I hope so," Armin said. He grabbed his notebook from his room and sat down on one of the chairs in the sitting room. His grandfather brought him in a cup of coffee, dark but sweet, just the way he liked it. Armin looked over the notes from the day before, thinking about Jean, and mourning the time they wouldn't get to spend with each other that day. Still, he was looking forward to giving Jean some lunch.

Armin made himself promise that he'd do some writing at some point in the day, and hoped he would receive all the inspiration he had lacked sorely over the last few months. He hated writer's block more than anything.

Except those people shouting at Jean.

Armin went over his notes, writing them out more neatly, muttering their pronunciations, but his mind kept drifting to the group of boys and the girl shouting at Jean from down the road. He tried, be he couldn't remember what they'd said, nor had any idea what the words meant. Why did they have a grudge against Jean? Had he said something to piss them off? Despite his slightly over-confident and cocky nature Armin couldn't see Jean intentionally hurting anyone.

The hour passed quickly and soon Armin was back in the kitchen with his grandfather. Cerise was sat rather awkwardly in the middle of the room, and Armin had to keep stepping over her to get things. But she bound out of the room and to the door when the doorbell rang. Armin smiled.

"Delivery!" Jean grinned, handing two bottles of milk to Armin when he opened the door.

"Thanks. Do you have time for a cup of tea?"

"I wish," Jean said. His hair was flatter than usual, and there were bags under his eyes. "But I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Sure." Armin said, now only more excited to surprise him.

"Thanks for letting me stay last night. I didn't wake you up this morning, did I?"

"Yeah, but I fell straight back asleep so don't worry about it."

"Ah, sorry. Anyway, I need to go, or I'm going to be working even later into the day."

"Alright. Don't overwork yourself."

"See you, and keep practising!" Jean called as he walked back down the path.

" _Je te vois demain_!" Armin shouted back. Jean gave him a thumbs up from the street. _I'll see you tomorrow._ He smiled to himself.

* * *

Armin had walked to the farm almost every day since he had come to France, so he was confident in the route he took. The scenery wasn't as pleasant as it usually was, as it was still cloudy and grey outside. But that didn't tarnish Armin's mood - his stomach was jittering with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Would Jean think his gesture stupid? Or would it make his day? Armin thought he owed it to him, at least, after everything he'd done.

Armin spotted Bertholdt and a man he didn't recognise when he reached the hill leading down to the farm. Bertholdt waved to Armin when he saw him coming down the path and said something to the other man, who was short and had close cut hair. Armin asked him how he was, pleased with himself for being confident enough to speak French.

" _Où est Jean_?" Armin asked. _Where's Jean?_

Bertholdt smiled at Armin's accent and pointed him towards one of the buildings. "He has his break."

Armin thanked him and let them resume their work, then went to find Jean. With the pain au raisin, Armin had packed him some bread and cheese, as from what he'd seen, Jean ate a lot.

"Jean?" Armin said, opening the door to the building. "You in here?"

"Armin?" A voice said from the next room, and Jean appeared in the doorway on the other side of the room. It appeared to be some sort of break room, plain, with a few tables and a small kitchen along one wall. "What are you doing here?"

"I, er, brought lunch. I hope that's alright, I mean, you might have already got-"

"For me? Really?" Jean said, walking over and taking the box from him. "...Thank you."

"Ah, no, it's fine! It was fun to make! Anyway, I'd better leave you to it, I guess." Armin said, turning to leave. Jean didn't respond.

"...Jean?"

"That was really nice of you," Jean said quietly. "I appreciate it."

Armin smiled. "My pleasure."

Jean watched Armin as he left the room and looked at the door for a long time after it closed. Armin left the farm happy, content, and ready to hear one of his grandfather's tales of adventure.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Photograph Room

A week had passed since Jean's double shift at the farm, and Armin was only just beginning to try writing up the story his grandfather had told him. Armin had been disappointed to discover that hearing one of his grandfather's stories hadn't immediately rejuvenated his want to write. He and his grandfather were both sat at the table, a pen in each of their hands. Armin was tired and frustrated; after hours, he had only managed to write half a page, and he knew he was writing slightly bigger than usual, too.

They were interrupted, as they often were, by a knock at the door. Armin went to open it, leaving his grandfather sitting at the table, already knowing who it was.

"I'm back," Jean grinned as the door opened. "Miss me?"

"I barely noticed you were gone," Armin lied. He'd been checking the clock obsessively for the past thirty minutes. Letting him pass, Armin noticed that Jean looked a little paler than he normally would. _Nothing to worry about,_ Armin said to himself. _You probably wouldn't have even realised if it were anyone else._

"Hey, have you been writing?" Jean asked, seeing the paper and pens strewn across the table.

"Yeah," Armin said simply. "But don't read any of it. It's embarrassing."

"Come on now!" Jean said. "I was going to let you see some of my photos later today, it's the least you can do."

"Hey, really?" Armin said, forgetting about his writing for a second. "I've been wanting to for ages."

Jean smiled. "Well, you can, if you let me see what you're writing."

"But I've barely done anything! And that's hardly fair, because you were going to show them to me anyway-"

"Boys, boys," Armin's grandfather said, laughing at them. "Stop fighting!"

"We're not!" Armin and Jean said at the same time. They looked at each other and started laughing too.

"I just want to see what he's written. Which one was it? Was it the one about the drunkard in Russia?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"Hey, that's my favourite! You should have asked me to come and listen too!" Jean mock-pouted.

"I will next time."

Armin watched them. It was odd for him to think that Jean had known Armin's grandfather for far longer than Armin had. His… friend… knew his grandfather better than he did. _Is that what we are?_ Armin was pretending to himself that the conversation he was having in his head was not one he'd been having several times a day. _Friends._ Armin wanted badly for Jean to consider them friends, but, at the same time, something about it just didn't feel right to him.

" _Armin._ Are you listening or what?" Jean interrupted Armin's thoughts as he waved his hand over his face.

"Yeah, sorry. I zoned out there."

"Well I was asking if you wanted to stay and write some more, or go out with me."

"Go _out_ with you?!"

"Yes…? Like, outside the house?"

"Oh! Right, um. Sorry."

Armin could feel the blush on his cheeks already. His grandfather was laughing at him and Armin knew it.

"Are you feeling alright?" Jean asked. "You're acting like a freak."

"No, I'm fine. Just tired."

"...Alright. Well, are you coming out or not? It's really nice out there, the nicest it's been in forever."

Armin gave his grandfather a look which said _is that alright?_

"Yes, yes, go on out."

"Alright then. I'll see you in a couple hours, grandfather."

"Have a good time!" The old man called.

There was a click as the front door shut and the sun was on Armin's face again.

"You're right," he said. "It is really nice out here."

"I'm always right," Jean grinned. He still looked a little pale, and his smile faded as he looked at Armin. He picked up his bicycle and pushed it next to him as they walked.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," Jean said, almost nervously. He adjusted his hat. "I was just wondering if you felt like coming to my house today, maybe?"

"Oh, I'd love to!" Armin was genuinely excited. He'd never expected Jean would actually invite him over. "Will your mom be there?"

"Mum might be working, she could be home. I'm not sure."

"Oh, okay."

They walked for a few minutes in a comfortable silence. They were going in the opposite direction to the farm and the lake - Armin had never been to the part of town where Jean lived.

"You got a question?"

Armin paused. "Hmm. Okay… what do you like better, summer or winter?"

"Good one. Probably winter."

"Why?"

"I like the cold weather better than the heat. Plus, I like delivering the milk while it's still dark."

"Isn't that creepy?"

"No, it's nice. Peaceful. What do you prefer, then?"

"Summer."

"Why?"

"Because of the beach. I used to go all the time with my friends during summer break."

"Your friends? What were they like?"

Armin laughed. "Hopelessly in love. I barely got a look in once they got together."

"That's shitty. Haven't you written to them?"

"Not yet. I'm waiting on a letter from my parents - I need their address before I can write to them - and I thought it would be easier if I wrote letters for Eren and Mikasa later so I can send them all at the same time."

"That's quite a methodical way of putting it."

Armin shrugged. "They're probably not missing me anyway."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"If you say so."

"I'd miss you if you left, you know."

They smiled at each other.

"Your turn to ask a question." Armin said. There was a warmness in his stomach, like the fuzzy feeling after the first drink.

"Okay. Say you're trapped on an island, _Lord of the Flies_ style. If you could bring three things with you, what would you bring?"

"Only three?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. Okay… some kind of knife, a flashlight, and matches."

"How practical."

"Well what would you take?"

"Film, my camera -"

"Don't be ridiculous," Armin laughed. "How would you escape?"

"I dunno, I'd build a boat or something."

"You're ridiculous."

"I know," Jean grinned. "Anyway, we're almost at mine. Make sure you don't talk too loud when we get in. If mum is home she'll probably be sleeping."

"Okay."

Armin didn't recognise where they were. He couldn't see any houses around - only a small path leading through the trees and down a hill. A small stream ran parallel to the path. They walked next to it, chatting absent-mindedly, and when they turned a corner Jean's house came into view.

Armin didn't know what he had expected, but this was certainly not it.

It was tiny, barely bigger than a caravan. It looked as if it were made of wood, and a small porch sheltered an old chair and a few plants. Curled up on the chair was a fat tabby cat, sleeping peacefully. The entire house was surrounded by plants - there was peach tree and a plum tree over it, and bushes bearing brightly coloured flowers grew around the outside walls. The milk bottles that Jean must have delivered hours ago were still sat in the shade.

"I know it's small," Jean said, not meeting Armin's eyes, "but it's home, so..."

"It's beautiful," Armin said, bending down to admire a cluster of red tulips. Jean looked at the tulips and back to Armin, flustered suddenly. "Did you grow these?"

"Yeah. I planted all of this stuff. Actually, those there bloomed a couple days after we met. Though the flowers will only last for a day or two more."

"That's amazing… you never told me you liked gardening."

Jean grinned and rubbed the back of his head. "Well, it's a bit lame."

"Nah, it's cool."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment coming from you."

Armin glared at him, then laughed. "I'm ignoring that."

Jean walked over to the door, stroking the cat. "Meet Rimbaud," he said, and the cat began to purr.

Armin knelt down in front of the cat. It jumped straight into Armin's lap rubbing its head against his chest and purring. "Bonjour," he said.

"Ahh, she likes you!" Jean said. "Normally she's fussy with new people."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Rimbaud, _viens ici_!" The cat jumped from Armin's lap and walked over to Jean, who picked her up with one hand and unlocked the door with the other. "Come on in, then."

Armin followed Jean into the house, where he was instantly met by a room which was both the kitchen and the living room.

"Jean?" A voice called.

"Maman!" Jean smiled as a woman appeared from the next room.

"I see we'll be talking in English!" She said cheerfully, noticing Armin. "You must be Armin, then."

"Um, yes, I am," Armin said awkwardly. "Are you Jean's mother?"

"That's me," she said smiling. "Jean's told me so much about you I feel like I know you already."

She was a pretty woman, Armin thought; far too young to be Jean's mother at first glance, but the similarities between her and her son were unmistakable. Her hair was very long and the exact same colour as Jean's, and on her face she wore the same knowing grin that he did. Her frame was tall and slender - Armin could tell Jean had inherited his good looks from her.

"Mum!" Jean said, blushing.

The woman laughed heartily. "Sorry, sorry. Well, it's nice to meet you, Armin! You can call me Sophie."

"It's good to meet you, too," Armin said.

"Mum, I thought you would have been sleeping."

"I was! Just woke up. I'm about to head out, anyway. I'll be back after dinner, so save something for me, would you?"

"Of course I will. Tell Mr Smith I say hi."

"Will do." She kissed the top of Jean's head and grabbed her back before heading out the door with a wave. "Make sure you do the dishes after you cook!" She added as she left.

When Jean was sure she was out of earshot he apologised. "She's so embarrassing," he said. His face was bright red.

"I think she's nice." Armin flopped down on a chair and took his shoes off.

Jean smiled. "She is, really."

"Didn't have you down as a mother's boy, though," Armin grinned.

"I'm letting that go, but only because of earlier," Jean said, sitting down next to him.

"So where's your mom going?" Armin asked.

"Work," Jean said. "She's always at work."

Armin wasn't sure what to say. He felt suddenly very awkward.

"Our landlord is a total asshole. Charges us way too much to live in this place, so mum and I have to work a lot. We're always talking about moving out."

"That's really shitty. I'm sorry," Armin said.

"There are plenty more things to be grateful about than to complain about, anyway. But it would be great to have a big house."

"You're surprisingly positive about life."

Jean turned his head to look at Armin. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Those people shouting at you."

"That doesn't matter anymore."

"Why?"

Jean tapped his nose.

"Secret," he said, and stood up.

"What?"

Jean outstretched his hand; Armin took it. Jean's hand was much bigger than his.

"Come on." Jean pulled him up. "I want to show you some of my pictures."

Jean walked over to his bedroom, letting Armin's hand go and showing him inside. This room was even smaller - all it contained was a single bed and wardrobe, and some shelves on the wall. Jean's camera was lying on the bed.

"Yeah, this is my room. It's not much." Jean reached over to a shelf and picked up a thick-looking book. "This is my photo album. I put my favourites in here."

"Can I see?" Armin asked.

"Sure." Jean passed him the notebook. "Sit down on the bed if you want."

Armin sat and opened it gently. Jean watched him intently as his eyes scanned over the first page, hoping that he would like what he saw.

"Jean," Armin breathed. "These are amazing, honestly."

"You think?" Jean said, almost sheepishly.

Armin turned to a picture of Cerise running through the grass, the ocean beside her, then carried on flicking through the pages. A few of his mother; Armin could see that Jean had been taking pictures for years - as he looked further back the woman's hair became shorter and shorter. There were pictures of the sea getting closer and closer as the tide rolled slowly in, pictures of his garden as it began to bloom, and then close up shots of individual flowers that captured the intricate details of every petal.

"This is just… have you sent any of these away? To Paris?"

"Are you kidding me? No!"

"You should. I mean, look. That's incredible." He was looking at a picture of the garden. "Even in black and white you can pick out the vibrancy of the colours."

"Thank you," Jean said, smiling happily. "I really appreciate you saying that."

"No, thank you for letting me see them."

"Ah, I'm just glad you like them."

"Send them to Paris!"

"But Paris would never happen. Besides, what about my mum?"

Armin paused. "You could make it is all I'm saying."

Jean laughed sadly, then forced himself to cheer up. After all, Armin was sitting on his bed. "Do you want to see where I develop them?"

"Sure."

Jean led him back out of the room, through the living room, and into a what looked like a large cupboard, with a strange light bulb and various trays. Pictures were hanging from strings to dry. It was a tight squeeze when they were both inside; Armin could Jean's breath on his neck, and their arms touched. Jean leant forward to shut the door, and then it was pitch black.

"Jean?" Armin said.

"Hang on," Jean replied. "We need to switch places so I can turn on the light. Is that your head?"

Jean was patting Armin's hair. "Yes, it is."

"Okay, hang on. Grab onto my waist a second-"

"Your waist?!"

"I don't want you to fall back as I get past and knock any of the chemicals over!"

"Fine," Armin grumbled, and reached out to grab Jean, slipping his arms around him. They shuffled around awkwardly, and Armin could feel his heart beginning to beat faster. He didn't think he'd ever been this physically close to anyone outside of his family before. Jean's back felt warm under his hands, even though the room was already hot and stuffy. Armin was facing Jean's shoulders, and he could smell the fresh scent of grass on his skin. It felt surprisingly good to hold Jean this tightly; he almost wanted to pull him closer...

Jean reached over and pulled a string; the room became flooded with a red light. Armin looked up at Jean, and began to let go, but stopped when he noticed the way Jean was looking at him. There was a softer look in his eyes than Armin had ever seen. _Why is he looking at me like that?_ Armin thought.

"Jean…?"

"I can feel how fast your heart is beating," Jean said, looking down at Armin. His breathing had become shallow.

Armin blushed. "I - er, sorry."

"Don't be," Jean laughed quietly.

Armin almost moved closer to Jean, but something stopped him. There was a feeling in his stomach he had never felt before, and he was breathing deeply - it was too much, so he pulled back and breathed deeply, leaning against the door. _What the hell was that all about?_

Jean looked slightly disappointed, and perhaps it was the red light, but Armin thought he was blushing. "Right. Um, so shall I show you how I do this?"

"Yeah, sure," Armin said, glancing over at Jean nervously. _Did I do something wrong?_

Armin could barely focus as Jean began explaining the process. He felt slightly sick, and his heart wasn't slowing down. Though he was trying to listen intently Armin's eyes kept wandering to Jean's hands; how would they feel wrapped around his waist?

"Are you alright?" Jean asked after a few minutes. The heat of the room was almost unbearable and his forehead was shiny with sweat. Armin looked at him for a second before responding.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, lying through his teeth. He wasn't fine. How could anyone be _fine_ when their heart was beating so fast and not slowing down? "I'm just a bit hot."

"Yeah, you look it," Jean said, and Armin's face flushed even redder than it already was; but Jean said the words with such an absent-mindedness that Armin knew he couldn't take them at face value. "I'm almost done with this, anyway. Once I hang this picture up it should be done and we can get out of here."

There was still a hint of disappointment in his voice, and Armin couldn't make sense of it.

"Okay. Done," Jean said, and hung the photo he had developed up to dry. "We should be able to look at it soon."

Jean leant over past Armin again to open the door, his arm brushing over Armin's chest. A tiny sliver of natural light came through and Jean ushered them through quickly so as not to allow the light to damage any of the photos inside.

"What d'you want to do now?" Jean checked his watch. "It's only three, so I don't have to start cooking yet. We've got like, two hours."

"I'm the tourist here," Armin said. "You think of something."

"Typical. Well, we could go for a swim, if you want. At the lake?"

Armin thought. "I'll paddle, but I'm not swimming."

"Why not?" Jean asked, his head tilted to the side slightly. "I thought you loved the water and all that."

"I do! It's just…" he shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

Jean looked at him questioningly, but didn't persist. "Alright. Well, we don't have to go to the lake anyway. We could just sit around here, or go for a walk, or, I dunno, anything really."

"A walk sounds nice," Armin said, and Jean agreed.

They had a drink before leaving, and soon they were walking through the trees, listening to the birds sing and the snapping of twigs beneath their feet. Armin's thoughts were preoccupied with the lake. The truth was that Armin loved swimming, and he found paddling nowhere near as fun - but he was far too self-conscious about his body to swim with anyone watching. He thought himself far too skinny, sharp at the edges - not like Jean. Armin glanced over at him. Armin didn't have muscles like he did; he didn't have toned, defined arms from working on a farm, or, from what Armin had briefly seen when he'd stayed over, a six pack. Armin hated his slightness, how short he was. Jean was tall, and fit, and…

At the same time that Armin noticed how dry his mouth had become he realised he had been staring. He brushed his fringe out of his face and took a deep breath. _Calm down,_ he told himself. _What the hell is wrong with you?_

There were tiny sunspots on the ground where the light was shining through the trees. Armin stepped in them, avoiding touching the shadows, and Jean smiled as he watched him.

Armin had never had time like this with Eren or Mikasa back in Seattle. Eren was ranting and raving about something constantly, and time spent alone Mikasa always felt sort of… awkward. But with Jean, their chatter was lighthearted, and their silence was comfortable. And nobody could make Armin laugh like Jean did. When they were together, Armin was always laughing, even when the jokes Jean made were at his expense.

 _Especially_ when the jokes he made were at his expense.

"What are you smiling about?" Jean said, looking over.

"Nothing," Armin said quickly, cringing at how obviously he was lying. "So, what are you cooking for dinner?"

Jean narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Armin, but didn't say anything about it. "We've got some chicken, so probably some kind of soup thing. I'm not sure yet."

He paused.

"Do you, er, want to stay over and have dinner with me? Mum's not going to be back until late, and I don't want to eat alone."

"Sure," Armin said.

That was another thing about Jean - it was so nice to have a friend that seemed to want to be with him all the time. Mikasa and Eren had always been closer to each other than to Armin, and he didn't mind, but when they got together it had become almost unbearable. They were like two halves of the same coin, and Armin felt left out. So it felt good to have Jean wanting to be around him. It made him feel warm. Armin wanted to be around Jean all the time, too, though; and for that reason he supposed he couldn't judge Eren and Mikasa.

"We should get back soon," Jean said, after they'd been walking for an hour or so. "I think you've caught the sun. You're really red."

"Alright," Armin said. "I wish I didn't get burnt so easily."

"I don't burn at all," Jean said proudly, "I just tan. Check it out."

He pulled down the fabric of his shorts slightly, revealing the lighter skin of his hipbone, and compared his tanned arm to it.

Armin considered himself to be pretty smart, but in that moment it was as if every intelligent thought in his head drifted away and all he could say was "Uhh, yeah," as he stared at the 'V'-like shape Jean had revealed leading down to his crotch.

Jean laughed, fully aware of Armin's reaction to his body. "Come on," he said, walking ahead, "let's get back."

The walk home takes a little longer, and Rimbaud scurries over to them when they walk through the gate, rubbing his head on Armin's leg. They made coffee and sat on Jean's bed and looked at photographs until they became hungry and Jean started cooking. Armin helped, chopping spring onions and shredding lettuce from the farm. Armin's hand brushed Jean's more than once as they both worked, and it occurred to him that Jean hadn't taught him anything new in French for the whole day. What started out as Jean doing him a favour had turned into a genuine friendship.

It was six o'clock by the time they sit down for dinner.

"French-style chicken with peas and bacon," Jean gestured to the food, "voilà!"

"Merci," Armin thanked him, even though he helped just as much as Jean.

They talked and laughed as they had all day, speaking with their mouths full because they didn't want to wait until they were finished. Armin thinks about all of the different things they've talked about - so many things, and yet it still seemed to him that he would never have enough time to hear all the answers to the questions he wanted to ask.

"This is pretty good," Armin said, mid-mouthful.

"Of course it is, I made it."

"How humble of you."

Jean smiled sarcastically and took a sip of his coffee, looking at Armin from over the rim of his mug. It became quiet suddenly, and Armin's mind immediately drifted to the tiny room and holding onto Jean's waist, and then, how his body had looked when he'd showed Armin the line of his tan.

"Earth to Armin," Jean said, "hello?"

Armin snapped out of his daydream and felt his cheeks flush for the umpteenth time that day. He fake laughed. "Sorry, zoned out there."

"I was saying, shall I put some music on? Or are you heading off soon?"

"I'll help you wash up," Armin said, picking up his empty plate, "but I think I'd better be getting back. I'm going to do some writing, I think."

Jean looked disappointed again, but covered it up with a smile. "Alright."

Armin dried the dishes while Jean cleaned them, and they talk about Paris.

"I'm telling you, you could make it. You don't even have to be a full time photographer. You could garden for really rich people, or work in a restaurant or something."

Jean smiled at the soap suds. "It's just a hobby. I wish it wasn't, but that's the way things are, I guess. There's nothing I can do about it, is there? I work for decent wages at the farm. There's no way I could make that much in Paris."

Armin sighed, frustrated. "So you're going to do this for your whole life?"

"I guess yeah. Paris is so beautiful, though, isn't it?"

"I've never been."

"Me neither, but it's the best city in the world."

Armin looked at him sideways, smiling. "If you say so."

"It is! I've heard so much about it from - well, it doesn't matter, but apparently, there are all these amazing street performers, and everyone is beautiful and creative and talented, and - why are you looking at me like that?"

Armin grinned. "You're so excited."

Jean narrowed his eyes at him, but he was still smiling. "Shut up."

Armin stuck his tongue out. "Anyway, I'm gonna head off," he said.

"Let me walk you back?"

"No, no, it's fine. I want time to think about what I'm going to write."

"Fine," Jean said, mock-angry, crossing his arms. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"That depends."

"Why? On what?"

"Whether you come over or not," Armin smiled walking to the door.

"I'll be over after my shift, then," Jean said. "It's funny how this has just become normal so quickly, isn't it?"

"I was thinking that earlier," Armin said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jean."

"See you," Jean waved.

When the door closed, Jean watched it for a little while, wishing that Armin had stayed, and wondering why he hadn't kissed him in that little room down the hall.


	5. Chapter 5 - Vivre Sa Vie

**Hi, long time no update I guess. My life has been pretty wild with exams and therapy and everything, so I've not written anything in eight or nine months. But I just finished secondary school and I'm on my final summer before university so I hopefully will be updating a lot (but don't hold me to anything).**

 **Ostara xo**

* * *

 _Finally._

The words were finally coming to him; Armin was writing. A cup of coffee, turned cold by negligence, sat next to him. Jean was seated opposite, watching, his head resting in his hands. He listened to the quiet hum of the radio from the adjacent room, and the faint noise Armin's pen made as he wrote with it. It was calming, peaceful. Armin had that effect on him.

"Are you going to let me read it after, then?"

Jean watched as Armin blushed. He loved that blush.

"Maybe," he said, still staring down at the paper. "Stop distracting me."

"I _am_ the best kind of distraction, though." Jean winked and leaned forward, trying to see what Armin was writing.

" _Jean,_ " Armin's grandfather's voice called sternly from the living room. Jean laughed and sighed, leaning back in his chair, and fiddled with his camera.

They hadn't hung out together in a while; Jean was taking on longer and longer shifts, and he was too tired most of the time to do anything afterwards. His life consisted of working and sleeping, and today he had looked so exhausted when he turned up to work that Bertholdt had given him the day off. Jean smiled to himself at the look on Armin's face when he'd turned up on his doorstep, holding his camera in one hand and waving with the other. He'd missed it on those long, hot days on the farm.

Jean lifted up his camera and looked through it at Armin, who hadn't noticed yet. The light coming in through the window shone against the side of Armin's face, the breeze ruffling his hair, and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. It was the perfect shot. Jean pressed the button and straight away Armin looked up at the sound, making a line across the paper.

"Did you just take a picture of me?" Armin said, accusing.

Jean grinned. "I might have."

"Jean!"

"What?"

Armin squirmed.

"He's shy!" Laughed the voice from the other room.

Armin buried his face in his hands. "Get rid of it."

"It was a good shot, no way. That one's going in the album."

Armin peeked through his fingers. "What album?"

"The album of this summer."

"You have an album of this summer?"

"Well, this summer _so far._ "

"I didn't know that."

"Did I not tell you?"

"No, you didn't. Can I see it?"

"You can see it when autumn comes, when it's finished."

"But-"

"Unless you want to show me your writing…?"

Armin sighed and looked back to his paper. "Fine, then. Show me in fall."

Jean groaned. "You're the worst. I thought I had you there."

"Nope," Armin said, trying to write again, but it was too hard to block Jean out now Armin was aware of him sitting . He could write when Jean was working. He didn't want to waste their time together. He put down his pen, brushed the crumbs from his breakfast off of his lap, and stood up. "Let's go out."

"Aren't you doing that though?"

"Nah, it's cool. I'm restless, let's go for a walk or something."

"Why don't we go swimming? It's a nice day, we could go to the lake."

Armin felt watched suddenly. "No, I don't have a bathing suit with me."

"You didn't bring one?"

Armin squirmed. He didn't want Jean to see him in his suit, which was very much with him, folded away in one of his drawers.

"You can borrow my spares, they're too small for me anyway."

"No, let's do something else." Armin could feel self-consciousness crawling through him.

"You want to get lunch out?"

"Yeah, that sounds great. My treat?" Anything to stop them from swimming.

"Woah, are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course. Let's go to that little creperie on the seafront."

* * *

"Fuck, that's delicious." Jean was talking with his mouth full.

"Mine's better."

Jean had a cream cheese and salmon crepe, and was devouring it like it was the first proper meal he'd eaten in days. Armin prayed that it wasn't. He had apple and cinnamon, and he was eating slowly. The creperie was noisy; it was a sunny day and a popular spot. Armin watched the sea from the large windows, rolling in and out. The beach was dotted with sunbathers and families building sandcastles together. Inside, the walls were covered with picture frames of previous owners and soldiers from the town. Armin wondered if Jean's father was up there.

"Let me try it," Jean said, swallowing. He wasn't concentrating on anything but the food, and Armin. "It looks good."

Armin cut up a piece, making sure to get a bit of everything on the fork, and held it out to Jean. Jean leaned forward in his seat and took the mouthful straight from Armin's fork. _Cute,_ he thought before he had time to be embarrassed, and then felt his cheeks flare red. A woman with a crying baby and disinterested husband glared at them from the other side of the room, making her disapproval very clear.

"Jean, what the hell! People are looking!"

Jean laughed. "They're looking because we're speaking in English, don't worry about it. It's not like they think we're-" He stopped suddenly and began staring very intently at his crepe. Armin wasn't sure how to make himself look any more interested in apple and cinnamon.

And then one of the waitresses came out from the kitchen, and Armin recognised her immediately as the girl from the group of boys harassing Jean.

She hadn't seen them yet. Armin studied her. She was short, and very cute. There was a softness to her that Armin hadn't expected from a girl who hung around with bullies, and she only looked about fifteen. Her hair was dark and long, plaited into two braids. Her whole face was covered with freckles. Her name badge read _Maria._

"Are you done with that yet?" Armin asked Jean quietly. "It's too hot. Let's get out of here."

"Almost, yeah," Jean said, chewing. "What d'you want to do after this?"

"I dunno, just hurry up."

Armin kept his eyes locked on the girl. She still hadn't noticed them, and Armin was thankful for the crying child, as her screams were drowning out the sound of their conversation. Marie seemed kind. She smiled a lot, and poked her tongue out at the baby, who quietened down quickly.

But when she noticed Armin sitting opposite from Jean, her eyes narrowed, and she cast Armin the filthiest look he had ever seen.

"What's wrong?" Jean asked, noticing Armin's shocked expression.

"Nothing, nothing!" Armin said, pulling out some money from his pocket and leaving the correct change along with a generous tip. "Come on, let's go."

Armin prayed silently to himself that Jean wouldn't notice Marie as they left the restaurant, and his wish came true; Jean was rambling on about a picture he wanted to take of the animals at the farm, and they decided to go there.

"If Bertholdt asks, I slept earlier. I was never even at your place, _comprende?_ "

Armin laughed. "Sure. Want to play Questions?"

"Sure. You start then."

He thought for a moment. "What's the best picture you've ever taken?"

"I'll have to wait and see how this one of you turns out."

"No, be serious," Armin said, thinking Jean was joking.

Jean felt disappointment in his chest. "I dunno," he said, sulking. "Probably one of the sea or something. Or mum."

"You'll have to show me. Your turn."

"Uh, okay. What are your parents like?"

"My parents?" Armin stopped walking for a second. Thought. "I don't really know all that much about them."

"What do you mean? Didn't you live with them up until now?"

"Yeah, I did… I dunno how to explain it, but I never really felt like… that connected to them, you know?"

Armin waited for Jean to say something, but Jean's look said _go on._

"I wasn't planned, I don't think. They didn't want a kid to look after. Mom was really young when she had me, so I think I tied them down. They met travelling. I was an anchor to them, and I always felt sort of in the way."

"I don't think that's true."

Armin smiled. "It was part of the reason I didn't want to go to Alaska. But I'm more than glad that I came here, anyway."

"Me too." Jean wasn't sure what to say. _Fuck it,_ he thought to himself.

"Do you want to come see a film with me next week?"

There was a heavy, long pause. Armin smiled.

"Yeah, alright then," he said quietly. "But where?"

"Next town over. There's a drive in screening, all American-like. Bertholdt said we could use the truck-"

"Oh, you already asked him, did you?" Armin grinned and cast him a sideways look.

Jean blushed. _Shit._ "Well yeah, er, I was going to go by myself anyway so... yeah. Just thought you might want to come."

"Alright, cool, then. What film is it?"

"Just some romance thing. _Don't_ look at me like that, it was the only thing on."

Armin laughed. "Totally."

"Stop taking the piss," Jean said, his face burning.

"You're going to have to translate for me, you know. I doubt my French is good enough to understand a movie yet."

"Sure, okay." Jean stared at the ground, trying in vain to dull the redness he could feel on his cheeks. "Anyway, er, it's your turn."

"How did you get into photography?"

Jean smiled down at his camera, and lifted it from the strap around his neck, looking through it.

"My dad loved photographs," he said, taking a shot, "but he never got to use a camera. Mum always used to tell me that. So for my birthday one year she got me this."

Jean looked up at the sky, his camera back around his neck again, and closed his eyes.

"It's weird," he continued. "Me and my dad, we never met. But I like to think that I'm a lot like him."

"I think so, too," Armin said. "And I bet he would love your photos."

Jean beamed. "You think so?"

"I'm certain."

"That means a lot to me. Thanks."

"My pleasure."

The pair walked in silence to the farm, the sun beating down on them heavily. It was possibly the hottest day of the year so far, and Armin was painfully aware of how sweaty he might look, and hoped that Jean didn't look at him.

Of course, that wasn't the case.

"I was thinking," Jean said, as they climbed over the entrance to the fence, "that I might ask Bertholdt to take a picture of us when we get there, seeing as it's a nice day and all."

Armin must have visibly recoiled.

"What?" Jean asked. "What's wrong with that?"

Armin scratched his head. "I don't know, it's just…"

"Just what?"

"Just that I always end up looking bad in pictures. And that's not even with you next to me, so that'll be even worse… what?"

Jean was looking at him confusedly. "You don't look bad."

Armin laughed.

"No, seriously, you don't. Why would you think that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Armin said, as they made their way to the horse pens. "For one, I look like a girl, I'm weirdly thin, and my clothes don't fit right on me-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Armin, you look good. There's more than one type of attractive, you know, you don't just have to look like me," he laughed.

Armin laughed too, and tried to shake off the pleasure at the fact that Jean might have just called him attractive.

As they turned the corner to the horse pens, Armin was met with the last sight he expected he to see - Bertholdt was shirtless and kissing an equally shirtless girl, who Armin recognised after a second as the girl from the bakery, Annie. Armin caught a glimpse of Bertholdt's muscles and blushed deeply. His back was incredibly defined and toned which did not go unnoticed. Jean's squark of laughter alerted the couple to their present and they broke apart immediately. Annie screamed and covered herself with her hands; Armin shut his eyes as tightly as he could.

Jean was laughing his head off.

"This is why you sent me home this morning?" He said in French, which Armin was pleasantly surprised he understood.

"It's not what it looks like!" Bertholdt said.

"That's funny, because it looks like you two were having a bit of fun," Jean was still laughing.

Annie glared at Jean and Armin, then at Bertholdt.

"You said we would be alone," she snapped.

"We're sorry, right, Jean?" Armin said to them both. "Come on. Let's go."

"We'll leave you to it," Jean said, as Armin dragged him away.

They could still hear Annie snapping at Bertholdt as they walked hastily in the other direction.

"Honestly, I can't believe they finally got together," Jean said once he had calmed down and stopped laughing.

" _I_ can't believe she didn't punch you, the way she was glaring at us," Armin said.

"That's true, but I think she was probably saving that for Bertholdt, the poor guy."

"Yeah. What are we doing now anyway?"

"Well to be honest with you," Jean said, "I don't really want to run into Annie again as I'm expecting a swift kick to the balls, so let's come back to take those pictures another day."

"Want to come back to mine for dinner?"

Jean said yes, and they both started the walk back to Armin's house. Jean had quietened down, and was mostly silent, taking pictures as they walked. Armin, on the other hand, couldn't get the image of Bertholdt kissing Annie out of his head. What would it be like to be kissed like that?

Armin looked at Jean.

For most of his life, Armin had been having feelings that he couldn't describe. Feelings that felt strange, and abnormal, and wrong. For the past weeks that he had been in France, he had been trying to convince himself that he didn't have feelings for Jean, scared that if he let himself acknowledge that part of himself that their friendship would be ruined. But there was nothing about the feeling he got when he found himself looking at Jean that felt wrong.

He would just have to decide what he wanted to do about it.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Kiss

It was a perfect night. The sun had just set, leaving a faint trace of orange on the horizon, which would be gone in a few minutes allowing the stars to come out. It wasn't too cold or too warm, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The air felt peaceful, and the sound of the waves rolling slowly along the beach was the only thing to be heard.

Jean was parked around the corner from Armin's house, and despite his calm surroundings, he was incredibly tense and anxious. He rested his head on the cool of the steering wheel, breathing slowly; in, out, in, out. He checked the time. It was almost nine o'clock, which meant he only had a few minutes before he was due to drive around the corner and pick Armin up. Lifting his head from the steering wheel, Jean looked down at his hands, which were shaking, and willed them to stop.

"Get a grip," he muttered to himself. He was never like this. Where had his confidence gone?

It had been a week since Jean had asked Armin to come to see a film at the drive-in cinema, and tonight was the night that they were set to go. Despite the fact that Jean spent every free moment he could with Armin, he knew tonight would be different. It had never been awkward between the two of them, but Jean could tell just from the feeling of nervous dread in his stomach that tonight it would be.

Breathing a deep sigh, Jean turned the key in the ignition of Bertholdt's truck and drove around the corner to park in front of Armin's house. Not having the balls to get up and knock on the door for some reason, he beeped the horn twice, and almost immediately after, Armin came out. His grandfather stood at the door and waved at them both as Armin shut the garden gate and opened the passenger side door.

" _Bonsoir_ ," Armin grinned as he did up his seatbelt.

"Good evening to you too," Jean said, laughing, half of amusement and half out of nervousness. "Ready?"

"Yep."

"Good, then let's go." His mouth was dry and he couldn't think of anything to say.

They drove in silence for what felt like the longest minute of Jean's life. He could feel Armin watching him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

"Are you nervous about damaging Bertholdt's truck?" Armin asked eventually. "It's just that you look a little pale."

"A bit, yeah," Jean said, though that wasn't the exact reason for his words. "But to be honest, he'd deserve it after what I had to witness between him and Annie."

"I can never go into that bakery again," Armin said, thinking of how badly he might get beaten up if he saw Annie again.

Jean laughed, praying that he could keep up with the confidence he was faking. "Do you know how how hard it's been working with Bertholdt this week?"

Armin cringed. "I can imagine."

"Actually, he gave me a some beers to drink tonight if you fancy one. I think it was to say sorry. They're in there," Jean said, gesturing to the glove compartment without taking his eyes off the road.

"Oh, thanks." Armin pulled two bottles of beer out and looked at them nervously. He'd never tried alcohol before.

"There's a bottle opener in there as well."

Armin grabbed it and after a little struggle managed to get the cap off his beer. He sipped it and winced a little. It didn't taste great, but it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever tried.

"Pass me one would you?" Jean said, grateful for anything to take the edge off his nerves.

"Jean, don't be an idiot, you're driving."

"I'm not a lightweight, Armin, I won't get drunk off one beer."

"If you're sure," Armin said, and passed the beer to Jean after opening it.

Jean sipped it and let out a long sigh, as he felt the tension in his stomach loosen. They were out of the village now, driving down country lanes. The roads were dark and winding. Armin sipped his beer, which went to his head a little and gave him a warm feeling in his chest. Jean drove with one hand on the wheel and his beer in the other, which Armin couldn't even imagine happening back in America. On these country lanes, though, there was nobody around to pull them over.

"How far away are we?" Armin asked.

"It's about half an hour away," Jean said. "We'll probably be parked quite far back but we'll still be able to see so it'll be alright."

"I don't mind. Are you still up for translating for me?"

"Yeah, of course. It'll be good practice for you."

"Yeah, it will be." Armin took a swig of his beer and pushed his glasses up his nose. His vision was getting a bit blurry, though he was determined to hide his tipsiness. He wasn't going to let Jean know how much of a lightweight he was.

Armin looked over at him. He was staring straight ahead, hand gripped tight on the wheel, his hair rustling from the breeze coming through the window. He'd already finished his beer. He wasn't wearing a jacket, and his arms were exposed. Armin found himself staring but couldn't avert his gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, Jean noticed this, and smiled.

When they arrived, Jean paid and they pulled into a space at the back. As Jean leaned to look out of the rear window and reverse, he put his hand on the back of Armin's seat to steady himself. Armin felt the same sensation that he had when the two of them were pressed against each other at Jean's house.

There were a few rows of cars ahead of them; it was a busy night. Armin had been to drive in screenings before with his old friends, but not for a long time - since Eren and Mikasa got together it had become a date activity for just the two of them. Armin looked over at Jean for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. _Is this a date?_ No. But he wished it was.

As they sat waiting for the film to start, Armin finished his beer and Jean drank another. Armin felt a little hazy, but didn't say a thing when Jean reached over him to grab two more from the glove compartment.

"Aren't you cold?" Armin asked Jean, noticing the goosebumps on his arms.

"What? Oh - no, I'm not. Kind of warm actually. Why, are you? I brought a jacket if you want it."

"No, I'm fine -" Before he could finish, a bright beam of light shone on them from the large screen at the front of the drive in.

"Oh, shit, hold those -" Jean said, passing the beers to Armin and fiddling with the radio, "I need to tune the radio so we can actually hear the film."

"They don't just play it through a speaker?" Armin asked. "How does that work?"

"They have a short range transmitter, so if you tune the radio to the right frequency you can hear the film through the car."

"That's amazing."

"Yeah, makes it feel much more intimate, don't you think?"

Armin blushed. "Yeah."

Music filled the car as the opening credits started to play. Armin relaxed a little more in his seat, undoing his seatbelt and leaning back. Jean was relieved that the film was finally starting and that he no longer was making an embarrassment of himself by being so awkward.

"What's the film about?" Armin asked.

"To be honest I don't really know, but it was the only thing on."

"Or you're just a sucker for romance," Armin winked.

"I am not," Jean laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that."

As the film began, the awkwardness between them faded, and they only talked when Armin needed help with the translation. For the most part he could follow the dialogue. Jean was impressed with how quickly he had learnt so much, and knew it was mainly down to how intelligent Armin was. Though the movie wasn't something that Jean would normally watch, he found himself enjoying it. The comfortable atmosphere that they had both enjoyed for the past weeks was returning.

The film was set in Paris, during the war, and it followed the story of a middle class French girl working for the resistance who was slowly falling for a German officer. Jean stared wistfully at the scenes which showcased the beauty of the Paris streets and architecture. Armin could tell how badly Jean wanted to go, and wished he could make it happen.

The romance scenes weren't nearly as uncomfortable between the two of them as Jean had thought they would be. In reality, translating the words to Armin was lifting a weight off his shoulders he had hardly realised was there. It gave him a warm feeling of relief that he could say the things which had been left unsaid for so long.

"He's saying 'I know your secret'," Jean said, as the film was reaching its climax. " And now he's saying 'but I don't care about that anymore. I won't let it stand in the way of us.'"

Armin smiled.

Jean continued, talking quickly to keep up with the dialogue. "She's saying 'nothing you could ever do could make me feel any differently',"

He wasn't watching the film anymore. He was looking at Armin, admiring the things about him that he loved. How his glasses slipped down his nose; the colour of his hair; how his smile lit up his whole face.

"'I want us to be together. It doesn't matter that we're different. I would do anything for you.' And then she's saying that she feels the same way."

Armin could feel the rising heat in his cheeks. He knew that Jean looking at him but he was too nervous to take his eyes off the screen.

"What's he saying now?" Armin murmured.

"'I should have kissed you when I had the chance. And I don't want you to go away…'" Jean paused, taking a breath, "'because I love you.'"

Armin finally looked at Jean, concentrating. Their eyes met and Armin felt a surge in his stomach. Jean was leaning forward slightly, his hand resting on the side of Armin's seat again. The light from the screen flickered, illuminating and then darkening Jean's features.

"That's not what he said." Armin said skeptically.

The couple on screen were kissing but neither of them were paying attention to the film any longer.

"Yeah it is. He said 'I should have kissed you earlier, and I don't want you to go away.'"

"But I didn't hear him say 'I love you'."

"Well, I didn't think you'd notice that, turns out I'm an even better teacher than I thought." Jean looked down, and smiled. "But I thought it'd be a wasted opportunity if I didn't say it."

"Why?"

"Because it's true."

Armin could feel his heart pounding in his chest so hard he thought his rib cage would burst. _Did this mean…?_ He wanted to be sure.

"What's true?"

 _Fuck it,_ Jean thought.

"That I love you."

There was a brief second of silence before Armin leaned over to Jean and kissed him.

It was slow, and gentle. It only lasted a second or two before Armin pulled back, smiling, and looked into Jean's eyes.

"I love you, too," he said, grateful for the alcohol which had given him the courage to express his feelings.

Jean laughed and heaved a sigh of relief.

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that," he said, and pulled Armin in for another kiss, deeper this time. He rested one hand on the back of Armin's head, his fingers entwined in his hair, and the other on Armin's back. The countless nights Jean had spent lying awake imagining what it would be like to kiss Armin hardly compared to the feeling he was experiencing; even as the handbrake was digging into his leg he was totally euphoric.

Armin had both of his hands around Jean's neck. He had never kissed anybody before. He'd never understood the desire to kiss anyone until he met Jean. For the first few moments he found himself worrying. Was he doing it right? Was he coming from the wrong angle? But soon, when the kiss deepened, Armin cast those thoughts from his mind, and let himself be carried away by the feeling of Jean's lips against his. It was easily the best feeling he had ever felt. Jean's lips were soft, but they kissed with an urgency that Armin tried his best to keep up with.

As the credits started to roll the kiss only became more passionate. Armin felt Jean's tongue press against his lips. He breathed out a shaky moan; the feeling sent a shiver down his spine. In return Jean pulled Armin on top of him and slid his hands under his shirt, exploring his back. He kissed Armin's neck all the way from his jawline to his upper chest, and Armin could do nothing but tilt his head back and enjoy every second of the feelings Jean gave him.

When they had finished, the film was over. They hadn't even noticed that the radio was only playing a faint static and that all but a few cars had driven away. Armin moved off Jean's lap and slumped back into his seat.

"That..."

"... Was amazing," Jean finished. His hair was messier than Armin had ever seen it and his whole face was red.

"That's one of the words I'd use, yeah," Armin said, still slightly out of breath.

Jean smiled and rested his head on the steering wheel. His heart felt like it was about to burst. "You had me worried for a while you know," he said.

"About what?"

"I just didn't think you, you know, like guys. I didn't think you liked me. Like _that._ "

"What's not to like?"

"You got me there," Jean laughed, and then paused. "I think I might be too drunk to drive back. You can't drive, can you?"

"No, and I'd be too drunk too. Can't we stay here until you feel better or something?"

"I don't see why not," Jean mused, thinking. "There's blankets under the seats; we could always lie down in the back of the truck."

"Sure, sounds good to me."

Ten minutes later, Jean had parked with great concentration in the next, empty field over, and the pair were sat down side by side in the back of the truck. Although they weren't touching, Armin felt as if Jean's presence couldn't be any more intense.

"Jean?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't believe that just happened."

"Is it just starting to sink in for you? It is for me." Jean was smiling from ear to ear.

"Yeah… but like… I'm confused. Isn't this wrong?"

Worry flashed across Jean's expression. "Does it feel wrong?"

"No," Armin said quickly, "but this isn't exactly normal, is it? What happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's just… it's not like we can go back to town and act like boyfriend and girlfriend is it?"

Jean paused for a second, and Armin thought he saw a trace of pain on his face. "No, it's not."

"Then what do we do?"

"I guess we'll have to keep it a secret."

"Can we do that?"

"Sure we can," Jean said, and kissed Armin again. "We can always go to mine, you know my mum's always out anyway."

Armin blushed as his mind ran away with itself. "Okay, well… it's my turn to ask a question."

Jean laughed. "Go ahead."

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

Jean shrugged. "I was scared. I didn't want it to turn out that you had a girlfriend back home or something, or that even if you didn't you'd freak out at the thought of a guy having feelings for you. I'd rather have not said anything and still got to spend time with you than get rejected and never see you again."

"I feel the same way."

They were silent for a while, and just looked up at the stars.

Armin would need time to process how he felt about this… whatever it was… with Jean, but he knew it would turn out well. Eventually, though they hadn't planned to, Jean and Armin fell asleep like that in the warm night air, under the sky, with smiles on their faces.


	7. Chapter 7 - Closer

Armin lay face up on his mattress, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the morning. He could hear birds singing through his open window, his grandfather cooking breakfast downstairs, and the gentle rolling of waves onto the sand. The sounds he was waiting to hear, however, were the unlatching of the gate and the clinking of milk bottles as Jean walked up the path.

Twenty or so minutes later, Armin heard the gate open, so he got out of bed, pulled on a t-shirt, and quickly went downstairs. Cerise followed him, barking, as she was excited to see Jean too.

"Invite him in, would you?" Armin's grandfather said as he approached the front door. "I've made him a breakfast, god knows that boy doesn't eat nearly as much as he should."

"Okay." Armin's heart rate doubled. The past few days he had hardly seen Jean - they had both been busy. Jean had been working even more than usual and Armin had been helping his grandfather around the house. The only times they had had a chance to see each other was early in the mornings and occasionally when Jean would pop over after he had finished work, but it was never for long.

Armin opened the door as Jean was setting down the bottles on the step.

"Hey," Jean smiled.

Every time Armin saw Jean it reminded him of the kiss they had shared, and it made his heart swell with happiness.

"Hey," Armin grinned back. "Do you have time to come in?"

"I got up two hours early so I'm actually already finished," Jean said. "This is my last stop."

Armin's face lit up, and he stepped back so Jean could pass by him. It made him feel special to know that he was a priority to Jean; he'd never been one before.

"Well we made breakfast for you, too, so I hope you're hungry."

"Starving."

There wasn't an awkward air between them about the kiss they had shared. Armin thought he should be glad for that at least, but things had just gone right back to the way they had before that night in the truck. Neither of them had mentioned it. Armin didn't dare to; whenever the thought crossed his mind, he became far too embarrassed, and then anxiety overwhelmed him - what if Jean regretted it, and hadn't brought it up because he didn't want to hurt his feelings?

At the breakfast table, Armin's grandfather watched them with an almost suspicious expression, as if he knew exactly what was going on and was waiting on one of the two to bring it up.

"What are your plans for the day?" The old man asked them once Jean had finished his second helping and Armin had let his coffee go cold.

Jean looked at Armin as if he was expecting him to have arranged something for them.

"Uh, nothing yet, I guess," he said.

"Good," replied his grandfather, "because i was hoping to ask the two of you for a favour."

"Sure," Jean said. "What is it?"

"I have to travel over to the city nearby today, and I'll be staying for the weekend. I was hoping that the two of you might be able to stay here and look after Cerise until I get back."

"Of course," Jean said without hesitation. He was smiling.

"Why are you going?" Armin asked.

His grandfather raised an eyebrow at the two of them.

"You two could do with some space, and I have matters to attend to." He stood up from the table and picked up his coat from its peg.

"You're leaving already?"

"My taxi awaits." The man pointed out of the window to a car in the driveway that Armin, in his nervousness, hadn't even noticed.

"Have a good time then, doing whatever it is you're doing," Jean said.

"I will," he said. "Oh, and Jean! There's a surprise for you in the bedroom on the top floor."

As quickly as he had announced his departure, the old man had gone.

Armin and Jean sat at the table amongst the breakfast dishes.

"A surprise, huh?" Armin said, grateful that he had something to talk about. "What do you think it could be?"

"No idea."

The air was undoubtedly thicker between them. Armin wished that he could just bring it up, discuss what had happened between them, but he had no idea where to begin. It was so unlike Jean to not mention the elephant in the room, either.

"Well, you want to go check it out?"

Jean grinned. "Thought you'd never ask. Come on."

Neither of them knew what to expect from the room containing Jean's surprise, and they walked up the stairs considering the possibilities.

When Jean opened the door the room was completely dark. Jean and Armin looked at each other in confusion. But when Armin flipped the switch, the light flickered on, bathing the room in a dull red glow, and they both realised.

It was a photo development room. Rows of strings were lined up, above trays where the solution would go, with small pegs perched on top of them, ready to hold up limitless amounts of pictures.

On the table in the centre of the room was a note.

Jean,

Hope you enjoy using this room; it should be a lot less cramped than the one at your mother's house. Have a good time this weekend, take lots of pictures.

Jean coughed once he'd read it, as if there was something stuck in his throat. He blinked and turned to face Armin, who was beaming.

"I can't believe he did this for me. Did you know?"

"No," Armin said, dumbfounded that his grandfather had managed to do this without telling him.

Jean smiled a wide smile, the kind of smile that pulled at Armin's heart every time he saw it.

"Shall we go out and take some pictures?"

Armin didn't need to ask twice; Jean grabbed his hand without saying a word and they were already on their way. Jean didn't acknowledge that he was holding Armin's hand in his own. It was if it was a completely ordinary thing to do.

The sky was a little cloudy outside, but it was warm, so they decided to go down to their usual spot by the lake, relax and go over some more of the French they had been studying together.

There was nobody else around. Jean barely let go of his camera; the promise of a new developing room had seemed to incentivise him beyond measure, and he took photos of everything.

Armin shrunk away when Jean snapped a photograph at him.

"Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?" Armin asked.

"Squirm when I point the camera at you."

"I don't do that."

Jean raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, you do."

Armin didn't meet his eyes. How could he possibly explain how he felt? Jean would never understand; he was so attractive, without even trying. He was tall, muscular, his hair was perfect.

Instead of trying to justify himself Armin just shrugged and looked away.

"Tell me why."

Armin sighed a deep sigh. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Well, no, or I wouldn't be asking." Jean smiled, but he was nervous.

There was a pause.

"Well?" Jean said, looking right at Armin, which only made Armin feel more uncomfortable. He had dreaded this moment.

"I just…"

"You just what?"

"I mean, look at me." Armin gestured at his skinny frame. "I look nothing like you, do I?"

Jean didn't say anything for a second. "You don't like the way you look?"

"Of course I don't."

"Is that why you never want to go swimming?"

Armin averted his gaze again.

"I knew it." Jean looked at him with an expression that Armin couldn't see. "And you don't think I find you attractive either, do you?"

"Why would you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm so skinny."

"I'm still attracted to you." Jean's face flushed red. He had no idea how hard that would be to say.

Armin finally looked him in the eyes. He looked doubtful. "You are?"

"I mean it. I think you're really attractive. Or did you forget what happened last week?"

Armin blushed, feeling a huge weight lift off his shoulders. "How could I forget? It was the best night of my life."

"Right then. So why were you worried?"

"I don't know. I can't help it, I guess."

Jean moved a little closer to Armin, so that their arms were touching, and lay down on the grass, looking up at the sky. Armin lay beside him. Jean scanned his surroundings quickly, making sure nobody was around, before kissing Armin hard on the lips.

If Armin was blushing before, his face was burning now, but he didn't resist. He had missed that feeling more than he'd realised. The familiar feeling of desire he got when he was near Jean grew larger.

"Will you stay over tonight?" He asked when they had broken apart, without thinking.

Jean grinned. "I'd love to. Shall I cook?"

"Sounds perfect to me."

On their walk back to the house, Armin didn't feel half as anxious as he usually did. They held hands until they got back to the town, when they let go, fearing that somebody might see, and realise they were more than just friends.

Jean got to work beginning the development process of the pictures he had taken that day, so that they would be ready to look at by the evening. Armin heated up some leftovers for their lunch, humming along to the radio while Cerise watched from her bed.

They ate together, laughed together, sung along badly to the radio together. Things to Armin felt just right. His mind wandered; he started to think what it would be like to spend every day with Jean just like this. It would be a good life, one where he could come home every day to somebody that he loved. Could he just stay in France forever? He didn't want to return to America. It didn't feel like home anymore. This house did. His grandfather did.

Jean did.

One evening rolled around, Armin lit a fire while Jean cooked, and lay on the sofa, reading one of the books he'd brought with him. Armin occasionally peeked over the top of his book to watch Jean as he cooked. He looked so focused; it made Armin smile. There was something about seeing Jean putting care and effort into something that made Armin's heart swell. Jean's love could be seen in the things he did, may that be working hard to finish work early, taking the time to frame the perfect shot, or by sweating in the kitchen on a summer's evening to make dinner for the both of them.

"How's the writing going recently?" Jean asked once they had sat down for their meal.

"I've not written much recently, but I want to. And that's something at least."

Jean smiled. "I'm glad. How is it?"

Armin took a mouthful of the pasta. "It's delicious, wow. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

* * *

Armin was grateful for the red light of the developing room; it disguised his blush. He was reminded of how cramped it had been the last time he and Jean and developed photographs together - how they had both been pressed against each other in the low light, their faces flushed, their breathing heavy. Just the thought of then sent a shiver down his spine. But this was different. Back then, Armin had known that as soon as they left that tiny room, the moment would be over. Now, however, the whole night was an unknown. How long would the tension between them last? Who would make the move? Armin silently prayed that it would be Jean, because he didn't know if he could pluck up the courage.

He watched Jean as he methodically took down the photos from their positions on the line, looking at each one before placing them in a neat pile.

"Here, look at this one," he said, taking the last photograph. "Actually, let's get out of here, I can barely see a thing."

Armin followed him out into the hallway, where the bright light stung his eyes. Jean closed the door behind him and held out the photo.

Armin blinked. It was of him, but he looked so… different. He was smiling, something which he realised he had never seen himself doing before. The sunlight shone in his eyes, and his skinny frame didn't look so disproportionate. His cheeks were slightly pink. This wasn't the same person he saw in the mirror. It was as if this Armin was someone else entirely.

"Did you do something to this?"

"What?" Jean asked. "I don't even know how that would be possible. All I did was develop it."

"Do I really look like that?"

"Of course you do." Jean looked at him like he was being ridiculous.

Armin felt his chest swell. In that moment, every fear and anxiety he'd had melted away like they were never there to begin with. There wasn't the panic of wondering who would initiate, or if Jean wouldn't want to.

He turned his head and kissed Jean, who hadn't expected a thing. The neatly stacked pile of photographs fell to the ground, covering the floor, but neither of them seemed to care; there were other things on their minds. Both of Jean's hands held Armin's cheeks, as if he couldn't help but try to bring Armin's body closer to his. He groaned with a mixture of pleasure and longing, wanting more. Armin felt his knees go weak at the sound, and they buckled slightly. He felt dizzy and flushed.

"Shall we-" he started to say, but Jean took his hand and led him down a flight of stairs and into Armin's room.

It was dark inside, but the light from the hallway illuminated enough to see by. A pile of clothes was lying on the chair, and his desk was covered with books.

Jean shut the door behind him, casting the room in darkness, and reached for Armin's hand again. He pulled him closer, and they kissed again, slower this time. Armin felt almost sick with desire. He was sweating; his face felt like it was burning. But he didn't try to pull away, or question what was going on. He just let Jean lead, and followed every step of the way.

They ended up on the bed before long. Armin lay underneath Jean, who was on his hands and knees, arms bent to be able to reach Armin's lips. He reached up to run his hands through Jean's hair. Jean let himself lower down until their bodies were pressed together. Armin moaned at the feeling of Jean's body against his, and instinctively thrust his hips up without meaning to.

"Sorry," he gasped, embarrassed.

"No, don't be." Jean sat up on the bed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Armin sat up too. "That was… that was good."

"Okay." Armin's mind was racing. Was this going where he thought it was? "What do we, er, do now?"

Jean broke eye contact and looked sideways. Was he embarrassed too?

"I mean. I'd like to, you know, if you do too."

Armin felt something tighten in his stomach.

"I do, but…" he stared at his lap. "I don't really know how it works."

Jean laughed. "Of course you don't."

"Shut up."

"I'll show you." Jean lifted his shirt over his head, revealing the defined muscles underneath from working on the farm. Armin could help but stare. "Okay, now it's your turn."

Jean slowly lifted the hem of Armin's shirt over his head. Armin wanted to shrink away, but resisted, remembering what Jean had said at the lake. He shivered slightly; it was getting cold.

"What now?"

"I'll show you."

Jean leaned over and kissed him again, this time pressing their torsos together. Armin could feel how hard he was, and knew that Jean could too. It felt too good to be ashamed about. He didn't resist.

"You're so hot," Jean murmured as he started kissing Armin's neck, resisting the urge to leave a mark there.

Armin feared opening his mouth; he didn't want to moan too loudly. His breathing was heavy and desperate, which sent shivers down Jean's spine. He lay back down on the bed, letting Jean climb on top of him.

"You sure you want to do this?" Jean asked once his kisses had trailed all the way down to the waistband of Armin's trousers.

"I'm sure, as long as you are," Armin replied breathily; the anticipation was killing him.

"Je t'aime, Armin."

"I love you too."

* * *

When it was over, they lay next to each other in bed, the sheets covering their naked bodies.

"Are you okay?" Jean asked, fearing he'd hurt Armin too much.

"I'm good," Armin said. "It wasn't… what I expected, I guess, but it was amazing anyway."

"Was it painful?"

"A little, but not too badly."

Jean breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad. I was worried."

Armin rolled on his side to face Jean. "But how was it for you?"

"It was - fuck, I don't even know how to describe it. I've never felt so good in my life."

Armin blushed, feeling his heart rate pick back up.

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Me too."

"Are you tired?"

"Fucking exhausted."

"Me too. Sleep here with me?"

"Well, I didn't really assume I'd be sleeping on the floor if I'm honest, so sure."

"Shut up."

Jean laughed and took Armin in his arms.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jean."

Armin didn't know how this thing with Jean, whatever it was, was going to fit into his life. But as he fell asleep, his head resting on Jean's shoulder, he didn't really care.


End file.
